Surreptitious
by AshBlackRabbit
Summary: Continuation/rewrite of the three minutes Zak died and beyond. Zak is in denial, sure he had Kur's powers, but he wasn't Kur. Zak will find out he can't deny the truth forever but he will try his damndest to. He has to accept himself, eventually. Previously titled One in the Same.
1. Prologue

**_Surreptitious_**

 _Hi Guys! Sorry to make you come back to the beginning but this fic needed major renovating as its dramatic as hell- it still is, but now it flows better and uses better grammar, language, flow etc. Nothing major changed besides those but more insight on Docs' perspective was given and Zak's was altered, and its all improved. Ill be working on the others as well, I won't continue on the next arc until its completed because i fear once i stop revising i won't return, though its not difficult as the chapters aren't horribly long. Updated: 6/25/2018_

* * *

Doc, looking back on all of his years, generally trusted fact and logic over luck and mysticism. Dating, and later his marriage with Drew might have led him and his beliefs astray. He eventually began to think his family was untouchable- well, he didn't take it quite to that level, rather they seemed to have an insatiable well of luck on their side. So most situations he'd brush off and continue on, after all, no one was ever hurt. Throughout all of the skirmishes, they managed to find themselves in they came out healthy and closer than when they went in. Which led to his lax, almost carefree, attitude about his profession.

Today had been the day his so-called logic was hurled up and shot in his face. His son, by some freak force of probability, was an ancient cryptid called Kur. His first hypothesis was that the cryptid was simply caged in his sons' body. This hypothesis was later reconsidered during their first run-in with the Nagas.

The Naga's didn't _want_ Zak's cryptid powers but rather _his_ son in his wholesomeness. They had wanted a boy - not even twelve at the time- a _human_ boy to lead the march towards humanities extinction.

For a number of reasons, the first being _no_ , their family wouldn't let that happen.

Circumstances, take them as they were, didn't always go the way he planned. So now as he stood over his son watching his wife and brother in law weep with unrestrained grief and anger, he felt his walls crumble. He had several Ph.D.'s, year's of college courses, renowned as one of the greatest scientists of his time; and yet he was powerless to save his son. No medical procedure could help him, they had restarted his heart but they couldn't restore a soul. Traitorous, unethical even, thoughts flittered back and forth as he continued to gaze upon his son's lifeless body.

He finally released his hold on the deliberator. It was a gambit that failed. For all extent and purposes, his son would remain an empty shell no matter how many times they restarted his heart or forced oxygen in his lungs. And of course, none of this would have happened if he hadn't allowed his pregnant wife to an extraction site. Would it? Would Zak still have had the powers he had?

Were the Naga's right when they claimed that Kur did not reside in Zak but rather was Zak?

The secret scientist would be happy then, he mused darkly, they stopped the ancient evil. The ancient evil who called most of them his aunt's and uncles'.

The eerie screech of the flatline echoed through the medbay; no one had the guts to turn the machine off. Fiskerton had glued himself to the edge of the bed watching with wide red eyes, murmurs flowed from his trembling mouth, and Doc knew they couldn't stay like this forever. Moving closer to Fisk he rested a hand on his arm, "Fiskerton… None of this is your fault, you know that right?"

Although he directed the question to the so-called "Kur guardian" he projected it to the rest of his family. His reassurances came out hollow, if this was the feeling of victory, of finally defeating Argost- then he didn't want it.

He saw the effects that flute had on his son- the screams, they would haunt him. In his son's last moments Doc _wasn't there_. None of them were. They had been too worried about Van Rook, took their time with the Naga's, ran down the wrong trail. They had all known that Zak had, on more than one occasion, went toe to toe with Argost and come out the victor. Why would the last time be any different?

 _Argost cheated_. It was a childish thing; cheating, but really, who expected a villain to play fair?

He glanced at the clock.

 _2:59_

At 2:59 Doc gave up. At 2:59 Zachariah Saturday had been proclaimed dead.

* * *

 _ **It was dark.**_

 _But it was hot - like really hot, Zak swore he was being burnt alive._

 _A familiar burnt orange flooded his senses, it entered slowly through his nose and swarmed out his mouth, it wasn't_ _ **his**_ _power, it was a_ _ **presence**_ _._

 _ **There was something,**_ someone _,_ _**there with him**_ _._ _ **Breathing, living, coexisting**_ _._

 _ **They thrummed with power**_ _\- he himself thrummed with power._ _ **But he knew this being**_ _._ _ **It was him**_ _, not him,_ _**a part of him that was there since birth**_ _._

 _Kur._

 _It shouldn't be possible though;_ _ **Kur was gone**_ _, but not, because he was Kur wasn't he? Kur wasn't gone because they weren't separate._ _ **Kur was a part of him**_ _._

 _Zak was Kur,_ _ **therefor Kur was Zak**_ _._

 _ **And by law,**_ _what was bound,_ _**would not be broken.**_

 _ **They were one,**_ _but they were not the same._

 _ **Either or - They would thrive.**_

 _ **They would survive.**_

* * *

The air that rushed down his esophagus burned his lungs. It was crisp and sterile. Fluorescent light blinding him as his hand threw itself around his throat to relieve the burning sensation. One sense after another overwhelmed him. A high pitched 'beep' fluctuated over and over making his ears ring. He could practically hear his bones creak as he rolled his shoulders to relieve the pressure and- was it odd to say his skin felt too tight?

Heat flooded through his veins fueling the fire that burned in his chest. His eyes were stinging and throbbing. Raising a hand to his head in attempts to relieve the pressure that was beginning to build he looked around him. Six figures lurched forward but paused almost hesitantly. Orange and black began to figure into focus, he could now make out the forms of his family.

"Guys? Hello?" He asked sarcastically once he saw all of their eyes on him. If this was their way of welcoming him back from the land of the living, at least he thought he was alive again, he didn't appreciate it one bit. Which made him question if he actually died? Made he just passed out? It was admittedly blurry.

Fisk had moved first, a lanky arm reaching behind him for a tray, flipping the reflective surface up the Gorilla-cat held it out for Zak's eyes to see. Zak gasped and flinched back - his reflection was _off_ , his eyes were ablaze with his power- no, no they weren't. His eyes were no longer dark pits but rather an orange similar to his shirt.

"Sheesh! I mean yeah this probably isn't a _good_ thing, but you guys had me freaked out about my eyes changing color! You nearly scared me to death. Pun not intended." Slumping back he leaned into the touch of a rubber glove that rested itself on his shoulder.

Looking to the wary face of his mother he was taken back when she produced a small light pin and scanned it over his eye," Zak… changes like this aren't normal. Sweetie, you were... You didn't survive. It's amazing but- it's not. You shouldn't be alive right now." The resigned tone made him flinch. His heartbeat sped up to the point of hearing the blood rush through his ears. He thought it was just the idea of him not living that caused his unnormal heartbeat but the hair standing on the back of his neck told him otherwise. It was like his cryptid sense- something was nearby, and it was close. Pushing away his mother's hand he jerked back and eyed the room warily.

"Zak, just calm down- we'll figure out what happened." He ignored his dad. Something was wrong.

He saw a flicker of orange in the corner of his eye and chills shot straight up his back.

"Zak?" It was Doyle. Just Doyle. There was nothing-

A roar echoed in his ears and suddenly, _he felt very unsafe_.

Zak screamed as _something_ burrowed into his body, the burn in his chest magnifying as that _thing_ made itself at home, a migraine like no other burrowed in his skull as his hands flew to his mouth. His teeth felt horribly heavy and the crisp smell of the air burned his nostrils. Zak forced his eyes closed as the unnatural light threatened to blind him completely. Along his spine tingled and his legs twitched as the feeling spread to his hips.

He could feel it moving inside of him- like a parasite, it was leeching off of him, changing him. Though the changes didn't feel wrong. If Zak was being honest he was slowly becoming more- _stable_? The feeling- it's worming, it felt welcoming. He didn't want it to stop.

"Doyle! Hold him down!"

A scream tore from his dry throat as he felt hands grip onto the material of his shirt; he was thrashing, fighting to get away from their prying hands, he recognized his father's large hands on his shoulders and the sound of his uncle calling his name but the panic was too much. Their names slipped away from his fingers just like their influence. He didn't want them to have him. They would try to take him away again.

The sounds congested in his ears and made a dull ringing sound - they were subduing him!

Yelling out he felt a blast of his energy leave him as he connected with the Lumerian, a part of him felt guilty as he wormed his way into his -brother's?- head but he needed to get out of here fast, feeling fuzzy hands scoop him up he was vaguely aware of the wind gliding through his hair and his humans calling him before he blacked out.

* * *

When Zak finally came to he could finally breathe easier. He could smell the rain in the air and wear the grass below him rustling in the breeze. Exhaling through his mouth he coughed as furry strands entered his mouth. That was unpleasant.

Opening his eyes he sputtered and fell back, the ground shook as he heard Fisk grumble in worry, holding him by the ankles sat his extremely upset looking brother. The so-called "ground" was actually a thick branch that he just about fell off of. Furrowing his eyebrows he shot Fisk with a glare. The 'mad' effect didn't really work out when you were hanging upside down.

Fisk sprung back closer to the trunk of the tree forcing Zak to swing through the air before landing ungracefully on his brothers' lap. With a huff he propped himself up and watched Fisk's hands fly here and there as he sputtered indignantly.

"Wherythnkkin!" The phantom cried as he threw his hands up in the air. Fisk continued to mumble out half-coherent sentences while jerking his hands around him in frustration.

"Woah, woah, woah! Fisk, buddy, just calm down! What do you mean, 'what was I thinking'? From the beginning - _slowly_." Patting his brother's arm he sat upright and listened while Fisk _calmly_ retold the story.

"Wait so you're telling me that _I_ told you to get me out of the room and run as far as you could? That doesn't make any sense! Why would I tell you to run away from mom and dad?" Crossing his arms he decided to focus on the rip in his black sleeve while Fisk moaned in frustration.

"Yeah, well, I mean I was overwhelmed, but still, I wouldn't have ran away. And would you stop staring at me like that!? What is it? Do I have something on my face or?"

Without responding to his question the taller of the two scooped Zak into his arms and jumped down from their perch on the tree. His brother's red eyes scanned the forest before landing on a shallow stream. Grumbling in satisfaction he plopped Zak down and gestured to the water.

Sighing he complied to the request and ducked down so he could see his reflection, so his eyes were orange. They established that back in the medbay. No biggie, they looked cool.

Shrugging his shoulders back he turned back to his brother, "Yeah okay, it's a little weird but nothing to freak out over, I mean we see weirder things than this on the daily." The overgrown cat shook its head and used his hands to pull down his lower lip showing off his set of sharp white teeth. Letting go of his mouth he motioned for Zak to do the same.

"Teeth? My teeth are fine Fisk, see?" For emphasis, he smiled in the water's surface to see his normally dulled teeth, "You see? Nothing wrong with my - _ack!_ " Leaning closer he saw that his canines had extended. The dull points had sharpened considerably and his tongue had accidentally swept too close to his teeth resulting in a small nick, "Ouch."

"Alright, Fisk I see your point. It's not like this is dangerous though. I mean, a magical flute tried to suck the soul out of me so if this is the drawback- I'm fine with it. Really. Nothing to worry about. But, I was expecting to you know... _die_ ," He whispered the word softly, only now was he realizing that he had essentially planned his death, "but I didn't. And if I really did control you, then my powers aren't gone either."

His hands trembled but he quickly hid it by grabbing onto the hem of his shirt.

"Besides, I think, when Argost tried to absorb my power, it reversed the polarity of the Devonian Annelids. When Zak Monday and I were in a room together everything disregarded the rules of physics. So Argost must have acted like a Magnet, right? Wait no, maybe? Technically our powers were the same, even if we were the opposite of each other! Okay, I got it. We were both (+)'s! So when he absorbed my power it slingshotted itself back because only _opposites_ attract." He rambled as his brain worked overtime to get away from the dark pit that was forming. But Fisk- he wasn't the greatest conversational partner. His own brain was busy working on if the theory was plausible.

And without a distraction? The 'what-if's' invaded. When it came down it, Zak attempted to give his life away for the greater good.

Zak had been ready to die.

* * *

 _He had tried to kill himself for the greater good._

 _Zak died to stop Argost from taking over._

 _Zak died to get rid of the monster._

 _But Zak was the monster and he was still alive._


	2. Growth

Hi! Did you enjoy the prologue? If not tell me why, if so tell me why! I've incorporated a little of TGIS into the story which I hope you don't mind. I hated the ending to the Secret Saturdays so I decided to make my own continuation, oh boi. Strap in for a long haul!

Also thank you so much to MagentaMustang for reviewing, I was really really nervous about posting this.

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 _Hi! Ash here with more revision! The chapter is for the most part completely changed (or will be if fanfiction would work with me) and once again thank you to Magenta (now SharpAsFlint) who is my Beta. Shout out if anyone points out the Hamiliton reference._

* * *

A horrible itch had irritated him since he woke up. Well, he had more than one but... his hips, back, and legs absolutely tore at him. Discomfort had wormed its way into his limbs and every brush of his pants made him wince. But it served well in distracting him from more ruthless thoughts- like his 'death' for instance! It was a wonderful topic to avoid because it was a needed- a very worthy- _sacrifice_. It was for the greater good and Zak never put himself above others, and he certainly wasn't going to start today.

Squirming he tried to think of anything else- like the long walk ahead of them, which, by the way, was looking horribly bleak. Fisk had spoken maybe two words to him since they started walking and he couldn't help but feel guilty. Fisk _hated_ to be controlled, something about him using his powers made his Lumerian instincts flare up. Zak didn't like forcing his way into cryptid brains and considering it was his brother who he used... well it didn't sit right with him either.

Pushing down his discomfort and shrugging off his guilt he glanced up at his brother who was lost in thought. The Kurling tilted his head up, it had been such a beautiful day- he had defeated Argost. And now it was ruined. It was a very lackluster victory. Though at least he and his family could have a reprieve; he didn't know how the other scientists were going to proceed- well the Greymen were probably going to be knee deep in cover-ups but- he wondered if he was still in danger of a cryo-freeze. Saving humanity from subjugation had to count for something right?

Anyway, he wondered if his friends made it home? Were they going home? How did you celebrate winning a war? Could it be counted as a war?

They didn't have many participants, the few cryptids he had connections with in the past year had fought for him, fought _with_ him. His human allies fought with him too, all except Francis that is. What was he up to? Did he see what happened- well that was a stupid question, _of course_ , the know-it-all saw.

Shaking his head he thought about the opposing force, many of them were forcefully put under Argosts' control- all of them except... Munya.

Zak didn't even want to think about where he was. With a sigh he let his train of thought go. There was no sense in letting his thoughts jumble and jump like they were. Shoving his hands into his pockets he resigned himself to a destitute walk.

.

The airship was intimidating. It was their fortress in the sky, their home for ninety-percent of the time, it was the product of Doc's hard work. And his mom's complaining- or so he was told. Drew hated that with each new area they visited they were given unforgivable conditions to work in. She wanted something more efficient, homey, and Doc was young, scrappy, and hungry. He eagerly took on the challenge and worked on the airship in every free moment. And when Drew became pregnant and refused to sit out missions; it was all the more encouragement to finish it quicker. The ship was his baby long before Zak was.

And it was familiar, he had lived on it more than he had lived in his on-land home when he was nine. He loved being in the clouds. As ironic as it was, being so far up grounded him. Baseline, the airship that often filled him with joy only served to fuel his anxiety. He had, essentially, run out on his parent's twice. He didn't want them to worry so much but that's all he's been good for lately.

Fisk grunted and motioned him to go. The phantom had cooled down a bit from earlier but he didn't want to push his luck. Walking, in slow steps, he made his way to to the helm. Truthfully, he didn't know when confronting his parents became such a challenge; but as he looked at the cold metal door, he could admit he was torn. A part of him wanted to run- but he didn't because he was done with running. He didn't want to be one of those protagonists that hide all their problems until it blew up in their faces.

 _He pushed the button and opened the door._

"Zak!" His mother gushed as she rocketed forward to trap him in a hug. His cheek stuck to the shoulder of her jumpsuit but he enjoyed the feeling of rubber on the skin. His parent's rarely ever took them off, 'things could get messy at any turn, no point in ruining good clothes,' his dad had told him once. He couldn't wait until he got old enough for his own. They admittedly looked cool.

"Don't ever do that again mister," she scolded as she pulled back, "I will get you chipped. This is no longer a joke. Don't run away from mommy again you hear me?"

His head was pushed down and his hair fell in his eyes as his dad clapped his hand over his head, "What she means to say is you worried us there, son. Don't expect to go too far from us for a while."

"...you aren't mad?" He questioned a little meekly as his hands itched to grab the hem of his shirt. This was turning out _very_ different than what he thought.

"Mini-man, I think I speak from us all when I say no. You kinda just saved humanity. That would be hard to be mad at." What Doyle didn't say however is that it's impossible to be mad at a twelve-year-old who woke up from the dead as if he was just Sunday-napping.

"We're just happy that you made it Zak." His mother smiled as she rose off her knee.

"We were so caught up in the moment that we didn't stop to think- we all just sprung up on you, who knows what sort of reaction we triggered." Doc started as he raised up a clipboard from his seat, "Your DNA shows that you have a few mutated genes- cryptid, genes. For all we know this could have been an animalistic side effect rising up to defend yourself. Fight or flight."

"We have to run some test's to be sure, but with all the running we haven't really got this whole Kur thing sorted out." His mother added as Doc passed the clipboard into her hands. The two spat a few scientific terms at each other before a shrill beep cut through the air. The sound buzzed through his ears and he shifted his stance, trying his hardest not to cover his ears he was _very_ relieved when Doyle spoke up.

"Someone gonna' answer that? Because seriously- you guys need a better ringtone." Reluctance passed over his parent's faces before they scurried off to answer the signal. Lowering his shoulders from their hunched positions he glanced at his uncle and was taken back to make eye contact with him.

His uncle shrugged as he moved a little closer, his eyes were slightly red-rimmed though he carried himself with an air of nonchalance, "Hey, I uh, want to make this quick but I want you to know I'm proud of you, Zak-man."

"Doy-"

"Nu-uh, let me finish while I still have the nerve to say this. I was in a really bad place, I was ready to make Argost pay and you stopped me. I'm still not used to the whole 'good guy' thing, and if you hadn't stopped me... I'd have been no better than Argost. So, thank you." Doyle mumbled out. His pale face was covered in a light blush and he was glad his uncle was taking this step.

"You don't have to thank me for that Doyle, you're family." Doyle huffed and clapped his shoulder lightly.

"Even before you knew I was related to you-you still stuck up for me. You helped me a lot more than you think. You were the first person who believed in me, ya' know? It means a lot. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you too..." Coughing to cover up his embarrassment his uncle's bravado quickly returned.

"Heh.. yeah, enough of that. I just wanted to tell you I'll be taking off for a while." Seeing the disappointment that ran across his nephew's face he quickly rectified his statement, "Not for long- I'll be back, two week's tops. I just need some time; Van Rook... I'm kinda messed up at the moment. You understand right?"

His eyes trailed down as he dug his heel into the ground, he understood it all too well... He didn't want Doyle to go, but he couldn't be selfish. It was obvious that Doyle was in a turmoil, it would be cruel to keep him here.

"Yeah.. I think I got it. Just- please, promise me you won't get into any trouble."

"I prom-"

"And that you come back in one piece?"

At that Doyle laughed and ruffled his hair, "Geeze, your starting to sound like Drew." Crouching down the older man held up his arms and he eagerly jumped into them, "You drive a hard deal Zak," his uncle commented as he squeezed him tight, "I promise."

His nose was pressed into Doyle's shirt and he inhaled the lingering scent of gunpowder and aftershave; his mind hammering it deep into his subconscious as one of the things that would always be able to calm him down. Frustrations bubbled up at the thought of Doyle leaving but they were all washed away as he was held tight in Doyle's arms, "I'll miss you."

"Back at you mini-man." Doyle said with an air of finality although he didn't release him until several moments later.

* * *

After Doyle left it was easy to sneak off to his room. His parents couldn't hold true to their promise of keeping a close eye on him when the secret scientist were breathing down their necks. The itch on his hips had far surpassed uncomfortable instead becoming mind-numbingly distracting. As soon as the doors to his room closed he yanked off his shirt and pants and turned to the mirror.

The image reflected back at him was enough to shock him to his butt.

Bi-colored hair and mixed skin? Born with it.

Orange eyes and pointy teeth? Cool.

Scales? Well, that was new.

Crawling up to the mirror he rubbed his eye to make sure he was seeing it correctly. There, beneath his flesh were dull orange patches. In certain area's his skin was peeling and chaffing and ultimately giving way to the _scales_ underneath. They were a muted orange and somewhat blended into his skin- enough that they could be overlooked if you didn't look too hard.

Choking on air he scrambled to his knees and started digging his nails into his skin. Inhaling sharply he whimpered when he couldn't pry the scales out. Red welts formed from the half-crescent moon marks formed by his nails. Why was he undergoing all of these shifts?

His 'mutant' DNA was dormant before- didn't affect him like this before so why did it now?

 _Because you died_.

A sadistic part of his mind cooed softly to him.

He wasn't becoming a cryptid. He wouldn't have a problem being a cryptid, they were the same as humans to him-

but he, he _knew_ what he was turning into.

Kur.

He couldn't escape the monster when he was the monster. And he laughed, long and hard, because his body was only starting to reflect what it contained on the inside. Biting the inside of his cheek he peeled himself off of the floor and gather his clothes. Violently shoving his clothes onto his- _horrid, disgusting, putrid_ \- body he slapped a smile on his face and chained down any- _ugly, selfish, evil_ \- unrestrained feelings and walked out towards the common room on the ship.

No use crying over spilled milk.

* * *

So what did you guys think of the - real - first chapter? I like the head canon that Zak gets scales, which is pretty obvious from this chapter, if you liked, follow, favorite and/or review! I'd reaaalllly appreciate it! Please tell me what you'd like to see. _Whoo- its revamped my dudes, more self loathing at your service! Did anyone want that? No? no? Just me? Well you gotta admit its written better though still too dramatic but Fuck it. Ill take the little victories. That being said, whats your opinions on the revisions? They Good? They Bad?_


	3. Zemblanity

Gee flipping whiz! This is an extremely dark chapter and discusses murder - you are warned when you read this chapter for it is not for the light-hearted. Mentions of gore, and an insight into a panic attack. Warning for glitchy/distorted text. Also Character death. _Updated: 7/7/2018_

 _Hi, hi, hi! Ash with another update, i'm slowly working my way through and fixing these chapters, my beta, SharpAsFlint is honestly a life saver at this point. This chapter is actually pretty similar to it's pre-update, just with better wording and length. Enjoy and please review if you think these are for the better or if you just have something new to add._

Read, review and possibly follow or favorite? Tell me what you think!

* * *

Fisk had joined him the moment his foot left the asylum of his room. The gorilla-cat had mellowed out from their last session together and now looked slightly apologetic. He easily slipped away from the apologies as he met each one with a shrug. It's not like Zak could blame him; he had crossed a line. He had violated his brother's trust. Consent was an important thing.

They both walked in a content silence; their arms brushing as they swung back and forth. Not five minutes into their walk did an obstacle appear, Zak's sensitive hearing picked up the whoosh of a hovercraft- the Beeman was here. And where Beeman went, Miranda followed.

Zak was left to assume that Dr. Mizuki had tagged along, too.

His brother looked down at him, questioning what they'd do next. The polite thing to do would be to welcome them and lead them to his parents. Shrugging he picked up the pace and ran down the hall to the room his parents were occupying. With Fisk close on his heels, they rushed into the room and disregarded the curious looks of his parents.

"You've got company." He murmured as he took a seat on one of the three table's filling the empty space of the communication hub. He was past the point of politely showing their company the way. All of them, at one point, had visited the airship.

They could find their way.

Zak was smart, being homeschooled by two of the world's greatest minds had certainly done wonders; he was smart enough to know that whatever the scientists were here for wasn't a good thing. He'd be lying if he said his brain wasn't racing thinking of all the possibilities for the visit.

- _But_ they had a deal, right? They had stopped the revolving beast, so he was safe for now. They still had five months to figure out a way to get them off their backs.

Were they going to back out of the deal now that Argost was gone?

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and twisted it back and forth.

The door swished open and suddenly the collar of his shirt was _too_ tight- which really didn't make sense as all of his shirts were loose and comfortable- and the entire Secret Scientist board was in the airship. All of them. Including Dr. Odele, Dr. Henry, and Dr. Pachacutec. The only ones who weren't in attendance were the Greymen and the newly recruited scientists that had been harmed in Fiskerton's Monday controlled haze.

He quickly crossed one leg over the other to hide the shivering that built up.

Dr. Cheechoo was the first one to step into the room and break the ice. His eyes had found Zak's and he smiled- though it was quickly replaced with a flinch as Fisk had buffed his chest. Call Fisk crazy for not being comfortable around them.

The rest of the scientist filled in as Paul greeted his dad good-naturedly, "Doc! Looking as intimidating as always!" His father smirked haughtily as he shook his old friend's hand. The two squeezed hands testing for a sign of vulnerability. Seeing as neither budged they broke away from each other.

"It's a part of the package, I'm afraid, sorry Paul." His dad replied as he gestured to the large table on the opposite side of the room from Zak. He exhaled in relief as all of them took a seat. Being separated didn't stop Dr. B from shooting nasty looks though.

The hostility in the room was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. It was similar to a wolf pack, both parties puffing up their chests and snarling- waiting for the perfect opportunity to- _pounce_. One wrong move and the room would be submerged in anarchy; which, in his opinion, was better than the cold war taking place.

His mom quickly stepped into the UFO specialist's line of sight, "Y'know, you weren't very clear over the phone, why are you here again?" She asked skillfully hiding her venom in vague words. Arthur was no fool though, he carefully picked apart her words he leaned back- silenced, for now. Dark spots began to blot at the edge of his vision as he tried to tuck away, to repress, the gnawing bite of anxiety.

"You know what we're here to discuss, Drew. This is beyond the point of reason. The government- _the public_ saw what happened 32 hours ago. A child leading horrific creatures to battle. The government is riding our coattails- and you know it. Just give us the boy- we can _help_ him; or would you rather him locked up and interrogated?!" Miranda gritted both in annoyance and worry. She had never been one for subtle subterfuge- Miranda was brash, all blunt truth with no sugar coating.

" _Help_ him? Is that what you think imprisonment will do?" Drew asked.

" _They_ are called cryptids..." Zak murmured, the way Miranda had spoken about his brother's and sister's making led settle in his gut.

No one took notice of his input.

Fisk leaned close to him- though he was only vaguely aware. A heavy 'thud, thud, thud' in his ears blocked out most of the conversation. It took him a moment to realize it was his heart. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were clenched so tightly at the hem of his shirt that they had turned white, that had explained the numbness.

The whoosh of the door opening made him jump. Everyone wore similar expressions of shock as Epsilon walked in.

"Imprisonment is such a crude term." The clone commented smugly.

"Look we've discussed this before Epsilon. We're not interested in your deal." Doc rebutted quickly as he joined Drew. Zak was protectively blocked off from the scientist. With Fiskerton just about crawling on top of him, he was completely safe from view. It didn't stop the feeling of eyes watching him. It made his skin crawl. Because it felt so obvious- he shouldn't be there.

The sensation of being out of place wormed its way into his head. Zak didn't belong here.

"You think this is easy for us? Despite whatever you think, we're trying to _help_ Franken-hair, it would be a lot easier if you would meet us in the middle." Arthur droned as he leaned back in his chair.

"Easy for-" His mom sputtered, "You nearly killed him!"

"I was attempting to save humanity, Drew. It's called the greater good." Arthur snarled.

His mom's lip curled up in a sneer, "Trying to save humanity my-" She was cut off by dad, his hand was curled around her arm using it to halt her advance.

" _Zak_ ," His father stressed his name, "has his powers under control. This topic is pointless. Whatever it is you think my son is going to do- he's not. No thanks to the scientist, he has learned to control his abilities- he led an army to prevent the war you _swore_ he would lead."

Epsilon and Beeman recoiled.

Not one to lose face the Greymen grimaced, "One slip-up. It's all that it takes. And when it happens the Greymen will be there."

"I would expect no less." His dad chuckled hollowly.

And just like that- Zak was sick. Horribly sick.

Vertigo traveled up his lungs and burned his chest. He had to go- he couldn't stay in the room because the walls, they were closing in. Compressing and growing taut, they would snap under the strain- did no one else notice? His legs were wobbly and he tripped over nothing as soon as his feet hit the floor and- _they were all looking at him_.

He ran like the coward he was.

Distantly he heard his parents' weak protest and Dr. Beeman's bitter chuckle, "I'd run too if my parent's sold my soul to the devil."

* * *

The forest was almost exotic in the early morning light. Pale yellow and what was left of the fading lilac ducked in and out of the thin foliage, scattered tree branches hung low to the ground and allowed their tips to touch the earth. Dew clung loosely to the grass and wildflowers bloomed in patches. Very calm. Or it would have been if he hadn't ruined it with vomit.

His chest had ached so bad and his stomach just wouldn't settle. It was like being on a rollercoaster- except he couldn't say 'stop' or get off. His legs were riddled with pins and needles and he despised the feeling. He shouldn't be upset, it was only natural- his parents were _only_ human; they couldn't protect him all the time. It was scary to think though, and he's been doing a lot of thinking lately. Too much, even.

...Would taking up the Greymen's offer really be that bad? They had promised to relocate the entire family and maybe getting lessons from Francis wouldn't be that bad. What's the worst they could offer? Breathing Lessons? Dull wardrobe options? He could take a little oppression...

Sure, he wouldn't be able to see Wadi, Ulraj, or Doyle anymore but...

Just the thought of leaving behind his life forced another wave of nausea through him. The idea of being in the Greymen's custody- _captivity, imprisonment,_ _isolation_ \- caused his stomach to revolt and up, up, up, went another batch of sick. It burned his throat and left a disgusting taste in his mouth.

His breathing hitched, a hiccup, a sting in his eye- and he was sobbing. Like a child. Roughly wiping at his eyes he struggled to gain footing against his own emotions. His hands had found the hem of his shirt and twisted, twisted, twisted, until, ' _rip.'_ He ruined his shirt and honestly, it just made him sob harder. He was such a walking disaster! Fumbling up to his knees he tried to calm his shaking hands as he now had nothing to hold onto, _nothing to ground him-_

 _and he was floating_

 _floating_

 _far away-_

 _he was so high up he couldn't see anything_

 _and the air was thin and it was hard_

 _to breathe?_

And he thought it wouldn't get worse but it did because through the fog that clouded his senses the crackling of the leaves seemed so much louder. Why were the leaves crackling? There was nothing for miles- he had been alone but obviously, he wasn't, not anymore. But he couldn't force himself to pick his head up. He was floating too far into space to want to return; he had always wanted to be an astronaut you know, he loved the stars but now, before his own eyes, they were too bright and too close and they were suffocating.

He didn't have to pick his head up. The smell of tangerines flooded his nose and made mixed feelings rise up- it was almost strong enough to chain him back to the earth. Why did he want to calm down at the smell of tangerines? Tangerine was a funny word. He knew he associated it with _something_ \- he just didn't know what.

He attempted to push past the gooey barricade that clung to his brain.

Blue came to mind. Lots of baby blue- and warm hugs, and amazing bedtime stories. His mouth clicked open and his tongue felt uncomfortable. His mouth was just so dry and his tongue, it didn't fit. It just didn't sit right in his mouth. Could tongues sit? He giggled.

"This makes my job simpler." A sweet as sugar voice said.

He knew that voice, too. It belonged to Abbey, he missed her, she didn't come around much now that he was older.

A metallic click filled his ears.

His eyes found the courage to flick over to his babysitter. Abbey was holding a gun.

Abbey holding a gun?

"Come on now you barmy git, stand up." She hissed.

That didn't sound like Abbey. Abbey was always kind no matter how much he got on her nerves.

"C'mon. You aren't brain dead, are you?" She questioned as she moved closer, the barrel of her gun glinting ominously in the light. She was getting awfully close to him with it. This couldn't be Abbey. The last he saw of her...

The chill up his spine was enough to tie him down. His head was no longer in the clouds though his foot was planted in the grave.

In his hasty attempt to get to his feet he fumbled- he lay flat on his back with Abbey's foot firmly on his chest. His lungs worked double time to get the proper amount of oxygen in. Not that they made much progress, in fact, he thought he was losing more air than he was gaining. It pained him to look up at her, he cared about her; how could she hurt him yet it pained him to even think of harming her?

"Now, now, dearie, don't tell me you expected something different? Well, don't take it too personally. Money is money." Gritting his chest he tried to buck her off to no avail. Was money worth it? She didn't have a lack of it, so why?

He didn't realize he had asked aloud until she chuckled, "The thrill, darling. Why live such a bland life when you could have so much _more_? Do you even know how much you're worth? Several men have thrown billions just to be able to claim you. A spoiled twat who can control ugly beasts? Priceless." She was just like Epsilon. Throwing around his worth like it was nothing to them. Did they not see he was a human? Did they not see that it hurt?

If they wanted a monster, he could give them one.

His eyes burned, his energy mixing the tears that were quickly evaporating. Grabbing ahold of her leg with his numbed hand he yanked hard, her body tumbling to the left in a feint. Instead of going to the obvious weak point he quickly rushed to his knees. They locked in place as he swayed to remain upright. He didn't have the claw- he didn't need it.

Abbey's fist grazed his temple as he refused to block it. He chooses to use her momentum against her as he kicked the inside of her knee and shoved his weight onto her. She tripped but easily caught herself. Zak found himself thinking back to his final hurrah with Argost, how the man laughed at his thoughts of a fair fight. Maybe, he thinks idly, he should have listened. Abbey's gun had bit into his skin. The cool feel of it against his flushed forehead really making the desperation set in.

It was silly when he thought about it. The girl he very much so adored- he did love her at one point, or he thinks he did; his parents told him that most kids loved their babysitter so he did- was ready to end his life over a rush. And maybe, he would let her. He was tired. Emotionally and mentally drained. Weak.

Was it wrong to say he didn't want to be pushed around anymore? To want to feel in control of the spiral his life was becoming?

Hatred and resentment filled his mind like flames. They rose and danced together- merging into one conglomeration of _hurt_. Their embers fell and warmed his cold eyes. Giving him a metaphorical torch- something to believe in, something to blindly follow.

And follow he did.

.

.

.

.

.

The crisp scent of rainwater and the soft undertones of fresh grass wafted through his nose teasingly. His hand moved to his eye as he tried to rub the remains of sleep from his vision. The sun was directly overhead and made it a pain to open his eyes fully. He had left the ship decently early, had he fallen asleep? Pushing himself up to remove the sun from his face his hand quickly shot to his mouth to cover a yawn. He felt such a bone-deep exhaustion it was crazy. His bones ached and his body was sore. Maybe he had fallen asleep in the wrong position?

His fingers dug into the damp grass. The chill liquid cooling his over-heated flesh. Standing up he wiped his hands on his pants- or tried to, his hands stuck to the soft cotton. Glancing down he rocked on the balls of his feet. His hands were coated in a dull red color, his pants- from where his hands trailed- were stained a tawny orange hue. Going through the motions with numb arms he wiped at his face, pulling his hands back revealed the same reddish color.

He was selfish admittedly, blindly panicking as he scanned his body for injuries. He was untouched, so why was he covered in blood- he knew it was blood, had to be, the strong smell of copper was irritating his nose- it was then that his memories rushed back to him.

 _Panic_

 _Distress_

 _Flight_

 _Fight?_

He needed to find Abbey.

Zak tried to rush, to sprint through the scattered foliage- he tried to help. But he couldn't because he was busy staring down at his hands, at the grass, at his pants and the- red, red, red- liquid that covered them. He twitched. His hands rubbed together, his nails dug into his flesh, and he tried, _he tried so hard_ , to clean, clean, _clean_ them. It was already drying and crumbling in between the creases of his fingernails.

A warbled sob escaped his lips- quite a feat as he didn't think he had the capacity to open his mouth- he was scared. He was confused, and for once he couldn't take the initiative. He couldn't be cocky or brave and he couldn't be the hero if he just stood around crying. And the crying, it was giving him a headache but he couldn't stop. His head throbbed and the ground bobbed and weaved in time with his thoughts.

Was it fair to say he was frustrated?

Abbey could be hurt and he was stuck here- almost infantile in his abilities. For God's sake, he couldn't even take his attention away from breathing because he was crying so hard he was close to vomiting. The fat tears that clung to his cheeks fell slowly as if mocking his rushed interior.

He had a list of complaints- the sun was _too_ goddamn bright and the ground trembled too much to stay standing but he did- when he shouldn't have. He felt selfish. He was putting himself in the spotlight when he shouldn't.

Zak was a - _filthy, selfish, pathetic_ \- crybaby.

Figuring out what happened was a priority but something in him rebelled-

 _Don't worry about it-_

But he had to.

He couldn't listen to the hypnotic voice that urged him to calm down, _to forget about it_ -

because something was missing from the picture. Something _big_ , what happened?

 _You know what happened_ -

He pushed down the phantom voice washing over his subconscious, he needed to focus!

 _You can't ignore the truth forever-_

His ears honed onto the soft song of a nearby bird. It sang loud and clear, completely unaware of his plight. Crickets chirped and chattered and the branches shifted from the mammals scurrying along them. The forest was active and alive again, he was safe. The blood rushing through his ears calmed slightly, continuing a steadier pace as it traveled throughout his system and back. Slapping his cheeks he let out a heavy sigh. Before he found out he was Kur- before the whole mess with Argost- he was well put together, confident- arrogant, even- of who he was. Zak Saturday knew who he was. Proud of who he was. Now he wasn't sure anymore. He was a shadow of who he used to be.

And the old saying, 'Fake it 'till you make it,' never seemed like such an ideal thing to follow. He had worried his family enough. He couldn't continue to be the person he was now- he had to be better.

He had to find Abbey.

Whatever attacked them, it wasn't a cryptid. Since the war, or rather since the underground, he couldn't _not_ sense cryptids. His cryptid sense was on a pseudo-hyper-alert. He could feel them for miles without even touching his powers. He was, metaphorically, never alone. Had another person come after him? Based off of Abbey's response, he was popular. Popular enough for several people to want him and if that was true, then Abbey might not have been the only person to be hired.

Taking that in mind he stiffened.

Zak found himself slipping back into the training his parents had drilled into him. His feet shifted as he widened his stance. Shifting his center of balance he craned his neck and did a quick observation of the surrounding area. If there _were_ to be someone else in the forest then they would have taken advantage of his vulnerability.

Assuring that yes, he was alone, he relaxed and crouched next to the gore splattered under him. Considering the blood that stained his hands, face, and pants had been cold but still runny it hadn't been terribly long since the wound had been made. The grass beneath his feet flattened, but not unnaturally so, whoever came left quickly. Possibly another female, a male would have been too heavy and would have broken the grass.

There was, however, a blood trail. If you could call it that, it was far and few and spotty. The dusty red contrasted too brightly against the lush green of the grass.

Following it, with difficulty, he managed to retrace most of his steps as he wandered deeper into the heart of the forest. Granted, he did lose the trail a few times he wound up in the right spot. At the base of an old oak tree soaked a puddle of blood. The dull hue had begun to sink into the earth, marinating the soil and the tree's thick roots in the human life essence. Resisting the shudder that attempted to wrack his frame he crouched, his fingers running across the tree's bark. It wasn't particularly big, or old, but it definitely held something. It wasn't quite magic, but a strong feeling. An impression.

 _Trepidation_.

Someone had felt very scared. About what is the question.

What could invoke such a deep, lingering sensation of morbid unease?

Circling around the tree a few dozen times he huffed- there was _nothing_. . .

A splash of cold landed on his nose. Frowning he looked down, he was standing, once again, at the front of the tree where the blood puddle collected. Lips parting in shock he looked up. He wished he hadn't.

Stumbling back he tripped. Gore soaked into the back of his pants. Any moisture in his mouth was gone.

There was a body.

The sound of flies buzzing about.

 _Are you, are you, coming to the tree?_

Oh god, the flies, they swarmed.

A glossy, wax-like face stared back at him.

 _They strung up a man, they say who murdered three_

Her hand curled delicately in her hair, the other perched on her chest.

She looked so life-like, if not for the fish-like eyes and lack of parts.

 _Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be_

She was disassembled.

A piece of her there, a part here, her chest

\- really could he call it that, nothing remained-

had been cracked open, looted as if someone wanted to see what she hid beneath.

 _If we met at midnight in the hanging tree_

 _Are you, are you, coming to the tree?_

Vomit gushed over his quivering lips.

It was a horrific display of art- he couldn't tear his eyes away.

The flies now settled, and they just- _burrowed, burrowed, burrowed, worming their way under her skin_ -

A malicious, ancient, _evil_ part of him, it was content.

 _Where the dead man called out_

But he couldn't leave her strung up like that.

She was a human, she didn't deserve the brutality that occurred.

He scrambled to find purchase on the tree, skinning his palms while he scaled it.

 _...for his love to flee_

His hand gripped hers, and he yanked.

His body went-

tumbling,

and so did she.

 _Are you, are you, coming to the tree?_

 _Where I told you to run_

She-

...splattered.

But he picked her back up and put her together.

 _So we'd **both** be free._

* * *

Zak didn't remember trudging back to the airship and he certainly didn't pay attention to the time-

his feet just walked.

His feet slid, the blood had matted to the bottom of his shoe soles making them slick and hard to walk up the zeppelins incline.

His head was quiet. His chest was stifling. The hallways were loud. The secret scientists hadn't left.

They never finished that meeting, he supposed.

...he didn't care.

The hydraulic doors opened as he approached the sensor.

It was quiet, both inside and out.

Hands had lashed out at him, trying to pry Abbey out of his hands.

He couldn't, he couldn't _let go,_ he had to get her somewhere _safe_.

Someone roughly shoved down on his shoulder, his arm went numb.

Someone took her- Abbey was gone. Out of his sight.

After a rough jar to his chest, he could feel his shoulder again.

The warm and protective arms of his mother around his shoulders. His dad's voice in his ears.

He was cold. Frozen solid despite their warm, worried embrace.

His mom- _mommy_ \- sounded scared, worried.

His dad tried to drown out the raging yells with his own.

He couldn't feel sorry for himself.

 _Have you stopped hiding?_

Memories flushed out of his system like a hurricane, quick, fast, brutal.

And he put up barricades.

Hide it, destroy it, don't see it.

 _Coward._

Where was he?

"Mom? Dad? What happened?"

 _Murderer_


	4. A God Called Vita

**_Greetings and Bienvenue readers of all ages. This is a chapter special on Kur before his entrapment and reincarnation to Zak. This chapter is narrated by someone who's watched Kur's descent into madness, and while I won't give away who, exactly is watching, just know it comes to play in the end. I'd like to thank you guys for reviewing! It really means a shit ton. Especially from_** _Sirius The Moonblade_ ** _as their story gave me the courage to post mine! Please enjoy and tell me your thoughts! That being said enjoy the revision. Updated: 7/12/18_**

 _Also, I would like to say now, because this chapter bears a slight similarity to It Will Not Obey You by rhythmantics on AO3 (it's a really, really, really, amazing story that you guys definitely need to read if you haven't already- the world building in that story is enough to give me an orgasm I swear) I would like to say that no, I did not get the idea to do this chapter based off of theirs and that this chapter is in no way trying to mimic it. That being said, in a future chapter I do make a reference to their story if you can catch it lemme know._

* * *

 _ **E** arth had been a mistake, a misstep of a lonesome and isolated deity. Formed by the frustrations and grievances of a young, lonely god. It had been christened in a raging inferno, it's flames licked and cleaned the contaminated surface bringing life to the desolate husk. It's very own core- molten heat pooled waiting for the right time to boil over- had been the heart of its creator._

 _The scorched surface was anew and with its rejuvenation came its creations. They, the Earth's_ – _the deities_ – _children were plentiful. Children of the Earth came in many forms and variations. Each of them unique and dear to the deity's heart. Some had fur or feathers; others had claws and scales. All of them nestled in the safe and warm bosom of the deities arms. The god was called Vita as they created life; Vita had given birth to all of the children. Vita had undergone scorn and scrutiny by their peers- disgusting, unpromising, contrary; they thought the deity's desires were immature and fickle. A disaster that would leave him heartbroken._

 _The deity refused to listen. They had given their children their heart. They would be connected as one, to live in companionship, to be apart of the same tree. The deity struggled to find companions, to find support in their council. So they made their own._

 _Two creatures of completely different skill sets._

 _The Naga and the Lumerian; a pacifist and a renegade._

 _The Naga's took control, created caste systems and strove for control. Not a single child would act up with the Naga's ready to discipline accordingly._

 _The Lumerian's offered advice and protected the peace. They guided the children and taught them._

 _They were a balanced force- they gave and they took. The children eventually settled, claiming domains that suited them most. Those with scales claimed the water. The children covered with fur ruled over the forest terrain. The lucky ones they had wings, used them to soar high into the heavens. Magnificent and bold the children scattered, each mapping out the uncharted mother earth. Vita's children flourished. They became thriving, self-sustaining. They took from the land and gave back to it. A continuous and constant cycle. Eventually, they repopulated on their own, bringing more children to the Earth._

 _The deity was pleased, their work had far succeeded in what they believed the results would sire. They weren't lonely, not anymore. This did not stop the young god from yearning to walk amongst their children. The god had mothered them, cared for them, but remained unseen_ – _the exceptions to his plight being the Naga and Lumerian. Vita feared to be pushed aside and forgotten. They wanted more, they wanted to be apart of the life they created._

 _The heavens saw the god's despair, and despite their reluctance to accept the new nursery, they did love their child. They didn't want the youngest of the batch to suffer, it was simply unheard of. God's did not lower themselves to such a level the young deity did. They did not simply make connections. They were above them. The deity's actions had been such a marvel that the heavens could only watch in pity as the young god struggled to remain in his children's hearts._

 _The heavens saw the young's desire; to walk with their sons and daughters._

 _So they granted the god their wish._

 _Vita was granted a body. Physical; able to interact with those around it._

 _The gentle god's form was borne from the fire._

 _Nothing but the fire that the deity formed the world with could be used to birth their greatness. The birth could not be dictated by the tentative land, nor the wily seas or the sky's in their vast expanse could be the proper womb for the deity and their power. No, it had to be the fire; it was passionate, wild, and unpredictable. Just like the god's love for the life they created._

 _Vita's birth shook the Earth. It made mountains crumble and oceans shake. Their presence was far too great to be held in the body they now wore. So they were stripped of their abilities, retaining only the basics and the gift to communicate and command their children. It was enough for them. Their power would grow over time but never peak again if they chose to remain in their manifested form._

 _The physical body was enough, they claimed. It was tough, made of scales and equipped with talons. Their body was also agile and lithe, long out-stretched wings adorned the gods back and granted them the ability to remain close to the heavens they forsake._

 _Vita reigned, the era was filled with prosperity. They were the law- the testament, the hierarchy_ – _Vita was their sovereign. Vita's flames burned fiercely_ – _they gave the children a reason to live! The god's hellfire had warmed them, burned into the children's marrow and coated their essence like a blanket. Vita was always connected to their children. Never, the god swore, would the children feel alone, for they would always have a part of their Vivificans Vita with them._

 _The Earth spun; days and nights meshed seamlessly as Vita played with their children. The god's heart grew in stature, their lonely memories a thing of the past. The god, for once, was satisfied. Progression circled their world, creatures adapted and evolved, new beings were forged._

 _Odd things they were, for they had no scales nor fur, but Vita loved them regardless. They were fragile, terribly so, Vita feared for their survival. The god sent the Lemurians and their kin to ease their worries. Surely the gentlest of their creations could properly care for the new species._

 _So they watched, content from their high perch as their advisors taught the strange new creatures to crawl, then walk, and then run. It was heartwarming, watching them grow and change. They were excellent imitators. They followed the Lemurians step by step. They had even taken to climbing the towering trees. From their mouths came peculiar sounds, grunts, and wails. A unique form of communication, perhaps, though they didn't dare act upon their thoughts, they could teach them to speak the language of the gods. The Naga and Lemurian picked it up without much trouble, surely for such an intelligent being, it would be the same._

 _The god flicked out his soul, aiming to make a connection with the new child._

 _They?_

 _Failed?_

 _Impossible._

 _They tried again, only to get the same results._

 _For three days and nights, they continued to attempt the connection._

 _Sadness, regret, frustration.  
_

 _These creatures were out of the god's range. They were similar, oddly so to the beings up hidden away in the heavens._

 _Vita could not control their kin, just like the could not control these children._

 _Were the new beings tiny gods?_

 _Family?_

 _Blood relation? Vita had built their children from the bottom up, created every muscle they used, every bone they moved, everything modeled after themselves. What the children they made lacked was the blood connection. But these beings, they shared his life. Had to have, there was no possible way to think about it as it was the only solution._

 _Vita had been the first to create life, but Anu, their father, created all. It was not a stretch to think their brother Enki and their sister Ninki would attempt as he had._

 _Even so, that meant that these precautious children were not theirs._

 _Vita could not interfere with their siblings' projects._

 _How much they desired to swoop down and take them for their own, they held back. Vita trusted Enki and Ninki to properly care for the tiny gods._

 _Telling their faithful followers the truth of the tiny gods had been a heartbreaking task. The Lemurians had grown attached._

 _It was not to be. Vita plucked the tiny gods from the Lumerians fury hands and sent them to a special place. One fit for young godlings._

 _It was located between two great rivers. The Tigris and Euphrates, Vita called them; the little gods would thrive here Vita was sure of it. In a parting gift, Vita gave the eldest of the bunch a name. Adapa._

 _Though Vita could not do more, they were content. Names were a powerful thing, and as Adapa was now graced with one would surely be the vox populi of his kind._

 _Once more the world went round._

 _Vita's Earth changed, the heat given off by the star their brother Utu created slowly melted pieces of Vita's world._

 _The Earth underneath the god's very own feet shifted._

 _They kept an eye on all of their children and were content with how far they branched out. Vita's world was plentiful, and slowly filling. The deity did not spare the tiny gods from their sight. Despite the promise they made to not interfere, the god checked up on the godlike creations often. Every 50 sun rotations they would peak in and observe the advancements the tiny gods made._

 _They created a name for themselves._

 _Homosapien._

 _Human._

 _Vita's adored the way the word rolled off of their tongue._

 _It was unique, just like the tiny gods._

 _Life was good on Vita's world._

 _Centuries passed._

 _The connections they forged with their children snapped._

 _one._

 _by._

 _one._

 _Frantic Vita tore the world apart searching for the reason._

 _Why were the children slipping from their mind?_

 _Their presences left the nook they carved in the god's chest._

 _Vita's children were perishing._

 _The answer, Vita found, was equally shocking and horrifying._

 _The tiny gods, the Humans, the beings they struggled to stay away from_ –

 _they were_

 _slaughtering_

 _Vita's children_ –

 _Tedious, wretched, deceitful, the humans were._

 _The Naga tried to warn Vita, begged the god to take action._

 _When the Humans were given Eden they tore it apart. When provided food and water they questioned why. They were curious, dreadfully so, and used Vita's children to satisfy their macabre wonder. This broke Vita's heart. The Naga's persisted. Insisting that the Humans were in need of punishment. They were selfish._

 _Nothing was good enough for the Humans, they carved into the Earth's body creating lasting scars. They sapped all nourishment from the Earth not bothering to give. All they did was take. They ripped out the trees that provided shade to the weary and home to the sky-soarers. They drove the original children of the Earth from their homes in fits of terror and rage. What they did not understand, they feared. What they lacked in body they made up for in brain. They dismissed all the work Vita created. They drove away the children that once helped them_ – _forced them into servitude and banishment._

 _Humans hunted the children_ – _those of scale, fur, and flesh._

 _Their bloodlust was never sated. They continued their hunt, no longer using the front of survival or defense. They hunted the children for sport._

 _The Humans were no longer the tiny gods that Vita once cooed over. They were "Humans" and they were better, smarter than the "Beasts" that snarled and lurked in the forbidden forests and murky depths. With every child that perished, Vita grew dissociative. Distant. Untouchable. The god they were supposed to be. The first time Vita had witnessed the murder of their children they raged._

 _All of the Humans were brutally killed._

 _Vita spared none._

 _Not the women or the children, not those with swollen bellies nor those with insults on their lips._

 _Vita had grown complacent, they had allowed the sniveling scum to do as they pleased. The god had to suffer for their own misgivings. Vita was weighed down by the genocide that struck their children. The god would never be able to retrieve their children from death's icy grasp. So they'd balance the total. For every child slain, Vita would take one of the Humans as payment._

 _Quid Pro Quo_

 _With every Human life Vita took, they grew sickly. Darkness invaded their soul. Changing them, twisting them to a disgusting mockery of their being. Vita cared not for the mortality of their siblings' creations, their pleas chiming like broken glass to the god's ears. The Humans were disgusting rats that needed to be eliminated for the children's safety. Soon Vita spared none. All creatures faltered under the weight of Vita's suffering and pain._

 _The years wore on, Humans toughened up. Vita's children grew paranoid. A cold war._

 _They had started to call Vita several things. Gave the god several names._

 _The only one the god acknowledged was simple, elegant._

 _Kur_

 _The short name was spoken from breathless lungs._

 _Forces gathered and fought arm to arm. The Human's fought relentlessly. They told stories, created epics_ – _mocked Kur in their speeches. They carved warnings of Kur in the most ancient, untouched temples and tombs. Shared the tales around campfires to preserve the fear Kur distilled in them._

 _The main coordinator behind it all_ – _behind the stories, behind the name_ – _Gilgamesh._

 _Gilgamesh was a Human built on false hopes, Gilgamesh was 'half-god,' there was no drop of heavenly blood in the Human. If they were not smart enough to figure out one could not be 'half' of a god then they did not deserve the title. Even a drop of blood would grant one godly status, and Kur knew all prestige was wiped out 256 years ago. Humans no longer shared the blood of Kur's kin. The tiny gods were no more. The Humans that stood in their place were pathetic._

 _They called Kur a monster. Despite being the ones who started the war._

 _Kur was death and disaster. Despite Humans drawing first blood._

 _Kur was the end of Mankind's 'reign' despite being Earth's true ruler._

 _Kur ripped the 'birthright' out of Human's hands despite being the one to allow them to live._

 _At the end of the day, Kur murdered for 'fun'._

 _Kur's 'only ambition' was to spread carnage._

 _Kur raped all that was 'holy and just'._

 _Yes, yes, Kur was simply the pentacle for ruin._

 _Kur slaughtered_ –

 _ripped them apart piece by piece_

 _carved them into chunks_

 _forced them into extinction_ –

 _Kur was death's harbinger._

 _Kur, the Annihilator, Kur, the sinister god, Kur, the destroyer of the Human race._

 _Honestly, they were very dramatic and self-centered roaches._

 _Yes, the ignorant fools had a great many names for them, as tedious and overbearing as they were, they were precise. Pretentious worms that worshiped the ground at false gods feet yet held such a nihilistic view towards reality. Poor creatures could not bear the truth of what was real._

 _And so his legacy continued to brew in the darkest pits of the Human mind._

 _Kur would once again purify the Earth in their hellfire. As the god began the planet and their journey for life_ – _they would end it._

 _It was during Kur's final battle they were betrayed by the very creatures Kur loved the most. In their darkest hour, Kur spared none. They cut down anything that stood between themselves and Gilgamesh. Kur's_ – _Vita's_ – _advisors, the Lemurians, stood against them._

 _They turned Kur's force against them. The Lemurians_ –

 _their children_

 _their allies_ –

 _left the god... TO ROT._

 _Traitorstraitorstraitorstraitors_

 _Kur didn't need them_ –

 _The god wailed, the battlefield silenced. One by one all fell, all of them suffering the backlash of the god's grief._

 _They seemed to forget that Kur wasn't always Kur,_

 _they had once been Vita,_

 _the Vivificans Vita, The Giver of Live,_

 _a gentle god who only wanted to ease their loneliness._

 _Kur was the final product, the culmination of the god's experiences._

 _Nothing mattered then, Kur would not rest until Mankind suffered as they did, Kur would not rest until Mankind was wiped from the face of the Earth. Kur's children would no longer be able to defy_ – _betray_ – _him. And Human's would be a thing of the past, all of them smushed under the god's mighty frustrations. Kur wanted to strip the very heart from the Humans chest_ – _they spoke about fear, sadness, rage as if they truly understood. They did not deserve the heart that beat under their breast._

 _If they wanted to perceive them as a monster,_

 _Kur would give them one._

 _As the god's prey, Gilgamesh, fell, so did they. The Lemurians, sly and bastard creatures they were, gathered the remaining Human forces and pried the god's soul from their still warm corpse. Between their last breaths, Kur forced a piece of themselves out_ – _sent it far away of the devastation and rape that would soon fall upon their body._

 _The ignorant apes sealed Kur away, in a stone. Their essence swirled in fury. How dare they have the audacity. Left in a dark and dry prison their hate festered and began to rot inside of their demented, hollowed soul. It overcame them, consumed them. Hysterics took over his once great stature, how ironic it was, Kur was warned eons before of this fate. And they just didn't listen. Because of something as petty as compassion._

 _Just before the well in which their despair was housed could overflow_ – _they were released._

 _Centuries of being trapped had made the god claustrophobic but they were finally free_

 _the air was still stale_

 _and the sun was still hot but it was familiar and wonderful._

 _The god could not believe their luck_ – _their body, the tiny piece they sent off moments before their death, had returned to them._

 _Spreading their tired and cramped wings the god soared sky bound as their prison sunk. This was their chance and they were not going to waste it! Following the pull, the yearning, to their body the god recoiled_ – _but it was too late. They had landed at their destination. This, this small, underdeveloped shell was theirs_ – _but it wasn't a husk. Something was there, taking up space, a tiny, uncompleted soul. The thing Kur had been missing all of these years._

 _Their delicate mortality, their remaining sanity, their emotions_ – _the god could go on but there was no denying it,_

 _before the god lies their forsaken hopes, dreams, and beliefs._

 _The aspects of themselves that they had cast off, the unwanted pieces. Kur couldn't_ – _wouldn't accept the fragile pieces, they couldn't be weighed down again by such a thing as empathy. They had vengeance to carry out, justice to serve, Humans to punish._

 _But the call of their incomplete soul called to the God, beckoned them to come, to reunite. It would feel so good to take a break,_

 _to rest, and the god could wait a few more years, vengeance was better served cold, anyway._

 _Kur would lick their wounds, for now. They'd return._

 _The god curled tightly into the heat of their forgotten passions and slumbered._

* * *

 _Hi! To clarify some bits, a lot of lore for this chapter is taken directly from Sumerian translated texts, a few words are Latin, Vivificans Vita is roughly translated from Latin meaning Giver of Life, Vox populi is roughly Speaker of the people, and Enki and Aninki are real Sumerian/Egyptian gods! Oh and Quid Pro Quo is basically a trade, like 'You scratch my back and ill scratch yours.' All cleared up? Good!_


	5. Obelus

_I might as well mention that this story will flip-flop a lot. My reason being is that while I plan to make this dark as hell, Zak's family will constantly try to pull him back from that line. In the show, I was very upset by the lack of emotion from his parents sometimes. This kid was flipping eleven man! I don't care how much of a genius he was or how much combat training he probably received. Kids need time to be kids. That being said a big focus of this story will be the stress that dumps down on Zak because he's trying to force himself to grow up. So on occasion, the chapters will be fluffy due to the fact that his family_ is _there and_ is _trying. Though obviously, this won't last long with all of the serious shit that goes down in The Secret Saturdays._

 ** _Chapter revised:7/16/2018_**

* * *

Staring down at the white tiles Zak winced as pink streams ran down from his body and into the drain. He had stood under the spray for fifteen minutes and the gore still hadn't completely removed itself. It was buried under his nails and he had to use half a bottle of shampoo to get his hair unmatted. The clothes he wore were completely ruined, caked in dried blood and vomit. He wanted them _burned_ , incinerated until they were ashes. His fingers ached from their position curled around the bottle of body wash, Doyle left it on accident. Zak hoped he wouldn't mind him using it.

It was just a calming thing, the scent of Doyle, and he needed all the zen he could get. As soon as he stepped foot out of the bathroom he would be swarmed, interrogated. Flashes from before the war flickered before his eyes. How he and his family sat before the scientists expecting understanding and cooperation. If they didn't get it then, what did they expect to get now?

Zak, though he didn't remember it, showed up to the airship with a dead body.

The dead body of Abbeygale Grey.

That... was a horrible bomb to drop, both on him, the scientists, and more importantly Miranda. As he was ushered into the bathroom he could still hear her sobs. Thankfully the running water drowned them out. Zak was confused, mostly because he didn't know how to feel. He should be sad, but he wasn't. The most prominent emotion he felt was satisfaction and it sickened him. He adored Abbey from the moment he had seen her. He had been five and a half, and she had been sixteen looking for easy money. Miranda had hooked her up with the job. She had been almost motherly to Abbey for the longest. He didn't know when or why the relationship spoiled.

Giving his body a final scrub he stopped the water. As much as he'd like to, he couldn't hide from his problems in the shower. Seriously, his fingers were starting to prune up. It was uncomfortable. Like the rest of his life at the moment.

The air was thick with moisture and the bathroom was filled with steam. Wrapping the towel around his waist he closed the shower curtain and moved towards the mirror. The reflective surface was fogged, distorting and blurring his image. If Zak were a poet– he wasn't – he'd make the observation, that in some perverse sense, the mirror reflected his mindscape. Hazy, with no clear understanding.

Swiping his hand across the cold, damp, surface he cringed. The eyes of a monster. _His_ eyes. His unnatural, orange eyes.

He didn't hate them, honestly! He was telling the truth when he said they looked cool, it was just the constant reminder that _'hey I share a soul with an ancient evil Sumerian cryptid_ '. That was the uncool part. The worst part had to be the scales. He didn't know how to explain them, or hide them for that matter, at least with his sense boost he got something good out of it. What did a person even _do_ with scales?

At least they somewhat blended in and didn't clash.

Maybe clash was a bad term? His entire existence clashed. Monochrome hair, part cryptid, and orange eyes. Wasn't he just the best package?

The condensation slowly receded during his cynical rant, so that was a plus, he thinks. He didn't really need to look in the mirror, though now that he was he was frustrated. His hair curled when wet. Horribly so. Normally it was decently straight with the occasional wave, no chance of that today unless he decided to spend an extra 25 minutes straightening his hair. His fault for taking a shower midday. Just like it was his fault that Abbey was dead. He groaned, his forehead bumped into the cool mirror. What a day he was turning out to have.

Not bothering to delay any further Zak quickly toweled off and grabbed at his clothes. Now that his favorite set had suffered an unfortunate demise he'd be forced to find something new, at least until his mom made him a new set. He was horrible with outfits, he always went for the most comfortable selection rather than practicality. Hence the _yellow_ , cotton pants and the flowy shirt. He would mourn the loss of the pajama worthy outfit.

Instead, he'd have to make do with the black basketball shorts and short sleeved orange shirt– with the Saturday trademark ironed on like normal– his mom laid out.

Definitely not a permanent look. The shorts were loose but made of scratchy material and the shirt's collar was too close to his neck despite being as soft as his old one. With any luck, he'd receive his growth spurt soon and be able to have his own jumpsuit tailored. Either way, he couldn't complain, he didn't have the foresight to grab clothes being he ambled into the hallway bathroom. And Zak was not about to walk around in only a towel when a group of people who had hunted him down sat camped out in their living room.

His hand ran down his face in a dramatic notion his dad only used when he was completely and _utterly_ done with something.

The door to the bathroom swished open as he unlocked it. And, in his defense, he wasn't prepared to be greeted with a silver barrel.

Of a gun.

Yeah, it didn't process well for him either.

His hand shot out on its own, slapping the gun with enough force that it _flew_ out of its holder's hand. And even though his chest felt constricted as if he had run a marathon and his heart was _thump, thump, thumping_ in his ears he stood his ground. Shaking, but standing nonetheless. And, realistically, he was safe. Surrounded by the titanium walls and a room or two away from his family.

It did nothing to negate the horrible, clawing fear that settled in his throat. He was held down by flashes of panic, of deja vu. His back was plastered flat against the wall and his lip had curled to reveal bared teeth. In the split second that passed, he had considered attacking, not calling for help. Zak had nearly acted on the idea of sinking his teeth into the throat of his attacker and _ripping_ –

But he didn't.

There was a snort, and his eyes were drawn from the gun, from the pale and unprotected neck to the smug and indifferent face of Arthur Beeman. The scientist watched him with calculating eyes as if waiting for some unknown variable to explode in his face. The Bman was nothing if not thorough. _Nothing_ escaped him, a quality his dad had cursed during the hunt. The question was _what_ , what did Arthur see? What did he want to happen?

Zak had a sinking feeling that he failed the impromptu test, horribly.

Turning his back he the scientist started walking, then paused, his eyes finding Zak's, "What are you waiting for? An invitation? Let's go, they're waiting for us." His voice was ice, thick and cold. The older man didn't even bother to thaw it by using a ridiculous nickname.

Zak's hands found the hem of his shirt, this would be one troubling talk.

"Stop twisting your shirt, you'll ruin the material." Beeman snidely commented as they fell into an even stride.

"Oh," his hands let go out the soft material, he hadn't been aware they had wandered, "sorry."

Without anything to hold onto, Zak was lost. The few, short minutes they shared together were miserable. His hands wouldn't stop fidgeting so he kept smoothing his hair, attempting to tame the curls. His hair wouldn't stay still and refused to stay tucked behind his ear. He could tell that each unnecessary movement only agitated Beeman more. He settled for biting his lip and shoving his hands as far into his pockets as he could.

Arthur didn't stay en route to the conference room, instead, the UFO specialist led him to the medbay. And Zak, _he knows_ , he knows what lies behind the medbay's hydraulic doors could potentially destroy him. Whether the thing inflicting the damage was Abbey's corpse or the scientist– _he didn't know._ Now that he was stepping closer, closer to the dead body he carried for miles unaware, his emotions were in a turmoil.

He was sad, he thinks, but then again he felt content. Like the cat got the canary. Prideful, yet discomforted. It was a strange mix that felt an acidic residue in his mouth. Another part of him, the part that pushes him, encourages him to run into danger is quiet. Satisfied yet bemused. Zak internally shrugged. He could spend the entire day trying to figure out the rainbow of emotions that ran rampant but really– what would be the point?

It wasn't like him to focus on the negatives, so he wouldn't. His defenses were still down from the Kur vs Anti-Kur battle, he needed to build them back up. He was _Zak Saturday_ , he's dealt with odd things from the moment he was born. He _breathed_ confidence. And he wasn't going to let himself get caught back under the tide of self-loathe.

Pushing ahead of Beeman he made quick work of the last few steps.

The door to the tiny clinic swished open.

He was hit with the lingering murk of depression almost instantly. The thick, sad miasma was potent enough that he struggled to swallow. Emotions, feelings, thoughts, all of them, when given enough power were strong enough to take a spiritual manifestation. He knew his mother was suffering the weight of them too, his eyes instinctively drawing to the many candles stationed around the room meant to ward the negative energy off.

A couple of the scientist board left or weren't in the room. Epsilon was tucked away in the far corner, Cheechoo was posted next to Miranda with his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, and Beeman quickly left Zak's side to join Miranda; his parents stood opposite of the mourning woman. His mom's shoulders slumped, releasing the tension built up at Zak walked to stand next to her.

No one wanted to break the silence–

"Now that Kur has arrived we can get down to business." Epsilon.

" _Zak_." His dad growled in retaliation.

Epsilon made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat and leveled his shade-heavy gaze to Zak's.

His legs swayed, he wouldn't have buckled if not for his mom's hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Pushing into the side of her body he tried to relax. Her hand moved from his shoulder and trailed up to his head, her nimble fingers threading through the curly mess. How her fingers never got stuck, he didn't know. She enjoyed playing with his hair, and he enjoyed the feeling so he never complained.

"Why did you leave the airship approximately five hours ago? We were discussing you, and possible failsafe's, did this anger you?" The clone prodded, taking a step closer.

"No! I wasn't," Zak stammered, "I wasn't mad. I don't know why I left."

"Don't know? Why don't you know?" Beeman asked.

"I told you I don't know! I wanted to get away?" He said though it wasn't very convincing.

His dad pursed his lips and shot a glare towards Arthur, not impressed at his intervention. The Greyman saw his opportunity and snatched it up before his dad could protest further.

"You wanted to get away? Get away from what?" Huffing, Zak's hands traveled down to the hem of his shirt, though he didn't dare grab it with Beeman's eyes watching him as close as they did.

"..." Zak couldn't answer.

Epsilon's lips stretched thin but didn't press the question. Instead, his focus was directed to the covered body on the bed, "How did you discover Miss Grey?"

His tongue darted out and licked his lips, "In a tree." His stomach flipped remembering the horrid nature of her retrieval.

"Was she alive or dead?"

"Dead."

Epsilon paused, his eyes once again on Zak's, "Did you have any contact with Miss Grey before you found her deceased body?"

His fingers dug into the fabric around his hips. And he wanted to lie and say _no_ , that he didn't see her but the feelings of– _Panic, Distress, Flight, Fight_? – are still hammering into his skull. And those feelings were holding him down, thick like tar and it pulled, and pulled, and pulled until it was encasing him, drowning him. The more he fought it, the faster it consumed him. So when his lips became numb, his mouth dry and his tongue as heavy as his conscious he could only mutter _yes._

And like clockwork, Miranda's back straightened. Beeman's eyes narrowed and Epsilon smiled– like he knew he had the answer all along, "She was alive. I wonder, what could have possessed her to come here of all places?" Rhetorical question, the clone _knew_ he knew the answer to his question. He was baiting him.

"Me." Zak confirmed.

"You," Arthur drawled, "And did you _see_ how she died?"

"..no."

"But you were in contact with her at least thirty minutes before her death?" Epsilon questioned.

"Yes. I think? Maybe." He settled.

"You think?" It was Paul this time, attacking the weak point in his memories.

"I don't know." The scientists all collectively sighed.

Beeman's fur was thoroughly ruffled, he looked ready to snap. Red dusted his normally pale cheeks and settled on the tips of his ears, "Look, I think I speak for us all when I say I'm tired of beating around the bush." The UFO specialist cleared his throat and willed his temper to cool, "Just tell us the story. From the beginning. Don't leave anything out, Larry Fine."

"Larry Fine..?" His nose scrunched up.

"Three Stooges joke." Paul offered.

"Yes, yes, very humorous. Now may we begin? I do have other things to complete today." Epsilon groaned.

Recounting what happened left him hazy; he spoke in a detached way, unable to get around the mental blocks. When he tried to think too hard he'd grow spacey–no, really, he would get sensations of floating and lifting _and never coming back down to earth_ – and there were certain times where he simply _didn't_ want to remember. Though that was mostly towards the end, he just clammed up– _Rockabye Abbey on the treetops, when the wind blows the body will drop_ – and had to pause and carefully choosing his words.

The end result was a very sloppily made, though truthful, alibi.

"–and then I was here but I didn't, I couldn't feel my legs or feet, I didn't _think_ to bring her here." Zak finished as he lamely tripped over his words.

"..Well. That's pretty damning evidence." Beeman muttered.

His mom, who had been strangely silent hissed, her eyes little more than slits as she turned on her college, "Really? He's obviously in _shock_ and you expect a full, ten-page, MLA formatted paper on him recovering a _dead body_?"

Dr. Cheechoo's mouth twisted up, he was very clearly torn. He leaned back in his chair, it looks like he'd be abstaining from the discussion. In fact, he looked like he'd rather be far from here. Zak didn't blame him, though he was extremely surprised when Paul caught his eye and smiled sympathetically. The Dr. then shrugged his shoulder's in a 'what can you do?' with a kind of attitude which made Zak smother a giggle in the palm of his hand.

"Drew," The Greymen cut in, "Arthur is simply using the given facts to think up a highly-likely conclusion. Young Saturday was the only one around for miles; he was emotionally distraught and very clearly not in the correct state of mind, we can assume that in his anger he attacked Miss Grey."

"He is a twelve-year-old boy," Doc growled, "Do you really think he'd be capable of man-slaughter to such a degree?"

"Anything's possible, Doc. He's fought bigger, stronger men. What's one tiny girl compared to them? It would be child's play." Arthur added.

Miranda shuttered.

"You know what assuming does, Arthur," Drew said, "you're all making very big leaps. Yes, Zak can hold his own in a fight– but Abbey was equipped with weapons, a jet-pack even." Holding tight to his wife's waist Doc stepped in, "Besides, assuming it _was_ Zak, why would he go through the trouble of killing her just to bring her back? He could have left her there and _no one_ would be any the wiser."

"Easy," Beeman sneered, "He got scared."

The conversation went back and forth, and Zak desperately wanted to plug his ears– to leave and never come back but he couldn't because he promised he was done running. He had to stay to the very end of this conversation. He wished, _wished_ , he could go back to before this mess all started. Wishes never came true though, he thought wistfully, he had to stay in reality.

They started shouting, he noticed when he tuned back in. His mother's fingers were once again tangled in his hair, though he thinks it was more for her comfort this time rather than his. They were evenly locked, two against two. They needed a deciding vote and with Miranda lost to grief and Paul strategically retreating they would stay at a stand-still.

But, it didn't work how he assumed because Miranda, who was so wrapped up in her own world she barely blinked shut up both parties with one word, "Stop."

Her hands were holding one of Abbey's, her hair had fallen and now caressed down her back in gentle waves– a sight he rarely saw. Miranda, who was always so well put together sat in the uncomfortable chair, defeated. Her voice was soft and shaky as if it would collapse at any moment, "Please," she sobbed unrestrained with grief, "Just stop."

So they did.

The sound of Miranda's rough breathing filled the air, her sniffles dying down as she wiped at her eyes. She carded one hand through her hair to remove it from her face; even at her worst Miranda was a strong and capable woman.

An intake of breath, "Zak?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you love Abbey?"

"Of course!" He almost shouted, surprised with the nature of her question.

Her red and glossy eyes lost focus, "Stop lying."

"What?" He asked in a breathless whisper, the room was silent.

"Why aren't you crying?"

"I don't–"

"What did Abbey mean to you?" Miranda slumped.

"...I don't know. She was important, family."

A bitter chuckle, "Family?" Her shoulders began to shake as her hair once again fell into her face, "I shouldn't have..." She murmured.

Beeman bit his lip and looked away, looking torn. Paul placed his hand on Miranda's shoulder and guided her towards his body, "Andy?" He coaxed, clearly worried over her brittle behavior.

"That day, at the capitol..." her voice was flat, "why... why did I help you?"

* * *

The question rang in his ears for the remainder of the day. The detached way in which Miranda asked him– it felt like she finally saw him as the monster he was, it hit him in the same way Tsul' Kalu's visions did. It shook him and made him reconsider a lot of things. It made him feel utterly _useless_ and _filthy_ , Miranda was hurt, Abbey was dead and he was here– at the thick of it, yet again.

Zak was starting to see a pattern.

Guilt pooled in his stomach, he hated that the morbid feeling had become somewhat of a friend to him in the past year.

He had tried to tell himself that Miranda was simply hurt, that she didn't mean what she said. But the emotion– rather the lack of it, in her voice told the truth. She regretted saving his life. It was a very bitter and raw feeling. It chaffed and it tore at his meager defenses. It _hurt_ , it hurt a lot. And even now, as he bit his lip to keep the tears away he almost chuckled. He was selfish, feeling as sorry for _himself._

He was ushered out of the room as Miranda had once again descended into a hysterical cry. His mom stayed behind to comfort her as the scientists began picking their things to leave. His dad had picked him up– and for once he hadn't felt childish when he wrapped his arms around his father's neck– and carried him off to the living room where Fisk as waiting. His brother had a collection of junk food spread on the table and the console booted up.

With a, "Try to relax, son," his father had slipped out of the room.

Fisk had easily picked up on the coddling where his dad had left off, the gorilla-cat's furry arms wrapping around him and holding him close. He was placed in Fisk's lap and given a controller. The game wasn't his favorite– but it was simple and cheerful. His heart was only half into it though he relished in the sound of Fiskerton's excited gasps. No matter how many times he's beaten the game for his brother, it still enthralled him.

Seconds, minutes, an hour, the time flew. His brain, which had been put through the ringer, had started to shut down. By the time he had gotten to the final boss, he was gone to the world. He had curled into Fiskerton's soft fur, his brother curling around him to make a soft, warm cocoon. Fiskerton cooed and babbled as he played with the wild curls that stuck off of his brothers head. His head had craned down, allowing him to see the splashes of orange that escaped the sleeping boy's eyes.

Recoiling in apprehension the Lemurian quickly calmed as he felt no trace of a violating presence attack his mind. Zak was still asleep, too far into dreaming to be aware of his surroundings. Fisk, though wary decided not to worry about it. Instead, he closed his eyes and attempted to join his brother in his slumber.

Unknown to both of them, the dull orange glow that escaped Zak's eyes traveled up and connected Fisk's body in a similar luminescence. Both boys writhed in discomfort as images bloomed in their subconscious. Zak dreamed about hope, about longing, and about betrayal. Fisk dreamed about peace, about wisdom, and about the greater good.

Images built like firecrackers in their minds– bright, explosive, and dangerous if they got too close. One of them took cover, shielded their eyes and plugged their ears. The other was drawn in, like a moth to a flame, and was caught in the spectacular aftermath. Their hands had taken hold of the colorful bomb and embraced it, curious, would it hurt? The sparks sizzled and popped, a shrill cry was sounded before it erupted. The inferno that splashed across the bleak space warmed one and _burned_ the other.

Fisk's face twisted in a silent scream, Zak smiled.

 _Slinking, lurking, devouring. Free flying, hot air, and molten cores. Chilled seas and dry deserts. What a wonderful world wasted._

* * *

Hours later, when the only light that illuminated the two boys came from the large television, the door swished open. Drew, wary and weighed down by the day's events nearly cried at the warming sight that greeted her. Her two, beautiful boys tangled up on one another; Fisk was perfectly curled around Zak his mouth agape and drool matting up the fur around his mouth. Her littlest boy, the center of attention, was small. His face buried in the fluff of Fisk's chest, looking as young and vulnerable as he should be.

Moving quietly she sat on the edge of the couch, careful not to disturb anyone's sleep. Bowing her head she attempted to cleanse the worries and frustrations from her mind. It was hard. Difficult, and not in a good way. Drew couldn't help but blame herself, Doc, and their profession. She had always craved adventure, adored excitement. Becoming a secret scientist was like a dream come true. Until she had her precious baby boy.

She didn't mean it in a negative way– she loved Zak fiercely. More than the world.

Every day since Zak was born she was riddled with worries. They started out small, insignificant. Little things like _what if he doesn't like me?_ Or _how can I be the mother he deserves? I barely remember mine_. Zak was _her_ baby, and she wanted the best for him. She loved him. What mother wouldn't love their child? Fear for them? And fear she did. The fear, it only grew with each passing year.

There had been several accidents where she thought her baby was gone.

The Dakuwaga, Argost, the train, the Nagas, the Ahuizotl, the Greymen, and Kur. And those were just the ones that haunted her nightmares. Seven too many 'close-calls,' seven too many times where her baby was placed in danger. Zak was twelve and yet, he was almost constantly fighting for his life. He wasn't normal, none of them were, but Drew didn't want that for her son. She wanted him to be safe, and happy.

She wondered if she made the right choice. Marrying Doc, having Zak, staying in her field of work. Surely, when Zak was born she could have, _should have_ , pulled out. Dedicated her life to her baby. But she didn't, she couldn't just drop her lives work like that.

 _She could have but she didn't want to_.

Biting her lip she brushed her fingers through her son's nappy hair. Her body jerked as she fought back the urge to cry. Her free hand, which was previously curled around one of Fisk's large ones, cupped her mouth, quieting the ragged breathing. She had come too close to losing him today. Epsilon had been ready to take Zak away forever when he arrived with Abbey.

If she would of have had it her way, the slimy bastard would never go within a hundred mile radius of him. It was a mess, dealing with the aftermath. Miranda, Miranda, she– _she had no right_. She had no right to tell her son or imply it, that he was better off dead. Zak was removed from the room almost immediately after she dared to speak those words to him. She had played her part, comforted her friend before kindly asking her to leave.

She didn't, none of them did, at least not right away.

They insisted on running a few tests. If any trace of Zak would be found on Abbey's corpse then the scientist would fight tooth and nail to take her baby away.

There was none, save for the faint residue that he left when he carried her back. There was _something_ there though. A string of saliva that didn't belong to Abbey or Zak. It was a cryptid sample. That, unfortunately, began another round of arguing, after all, Zak could _control_ cryptids. An easy solution. And she cursed her peers because they always looked for the _easy_ solution. Not the truth. Neither parties could prove or disprove the other.

And a part of her wanted to ask them _why_ , why did they insist on coming after her baby? They _knew_ Zak. Most of them watched him paddle around in pull-ups when he was younger. He used to cry when they picked him up from Paul's house, threw tantrum after tantrum when Abbey had to go home. Yet they still accused him of being some horrible monster.

Some monster he was, her little boy who _still slept with a pink unicorn_ to keep the bad dreams away.

During her musings, she had missed Fiskerton's eyes popping open. His red eyes squinted, out of habits more than anything, she knew he could see perfectly fine in the dark. Struggling to pull up a half-okay smile she cooed down at him, "Slept well honey?"

"Sadr." His voice moved softly through the tranquil darkness.

"Oh, no," She quickly tried to reassure him, "I'm fine."

His eyes scrunched even tighter together, calling her out for her lie. She couldn't sneak anything past the little momma's boy, "Really Fiskerton, It's just been a stressful day. Nothing to worry about." He wasn't pleased by the answer but his tension had ebbed away with her admission. The Lemurian eased into a sitting position slowly, careful not to jostle the sleeping boy on his chest. He held a no-nonsense tone he patted the area between his crossed legs. She considered refusing but quickly squashed the thought. Crawling into the comforting arms of her adopted son she leaned back. As she settled Fisk lowered Zak into her arms. Shifting his position so that his head lulled into the crook of her elbow she leaned further back onto Fisk's chest. Fisk snorted happily before he ruffled her hair. Relaxing for the first time in weeks she murmured a small thanks and pursed her lips. Looking down at the snoozing boy in her arms and then back up at the concerned Phantom she huffed, "Sometimes, I feel like, I don't know– you two are growing up so fast," craning her head back at the motherly expression in Fisk's eyes she snorted, "Too fast."

"Badah buh nernsurn." _Nonsense_ , the cryptid retorted and Drew giggled. It was hard to take him seriously when he perfected _her_ signature brow raise that translated to _'really? don't use that excuse on me'_.

"I hope you two have room for me." Both Saturdays jumped at the abrupt intrusion. Doc stood behind the couch, his mouth lifted in a tired smile. Bags had formed under his eyes and for once in his life, he looked his age. Fiskerton excitedly babbled but easily moved to press himself closer to the corner of the couch giving Doc room to slip in between the Lemurian and his wife. If Doc were a lesser man, he would have complained about sitting between his adopted, cryptid son's legs, but after the day he had, he put it aside. It was family, and it was well past relaxation time.

His back molded easily enough into Fisk's fur and the knots that had worked their way into his shoulders untightened. Between Fisk's fur, his wife's' perfume, and his son's soft snores the stress shifted to the back of his mind. If he could have more of _this_ and less of well, everything else, Doc wouldn't be getting early grays. When he signed up, this should have been in the contract. Ah, well, at least the retirement plan was good.

* * *

 _Hi! Ash here with the latest update, think it was any better? I do! This is quite the headcanon dump I warn you, such as Zak's curly hair. And Drew pulling up some mystic candles to expell depression. Nothing new with Epsilon or Beeman yet, they're still dicks. Also fight me_ – _you can't tell me that Paul was not Zak's pseudo-uncle before Doyle came along. I'm pretty sure Abbey wasn't always available to babysit. The scientists probably did draws to see who would take him. Except for Beeman. Nobody would willingly give an infant to Beeman. Miranda is a sad child. Don't hate her too much. She's rather important to the plot._


	6. Icarus

_**To Subtle Shenanigans, thanks for the review! In my absence, i've planned a good eight or so chapters out, so I plan to stick around a bit.. just gotta figure out how to flesh those ideas into chapters. Fisk, is the fuzziest son, i refuse to think differently. Also with Abbey's death, they won't know for a good long while, in fact the person who figures it all out is probably your last guess. And no problem! I figure since he got shunned Arthur is going to take his job more seriously, which means him being alert continuously, however with no concrete evidence he won't be slinging around threats or anything. Yet. =)**_

 ** _Revised: 11/2018_**

* * *

Abbey's funeral was planned the day he found her. In three weeks she'd be placed in a coffin and sealed in an earthly tomb. Her funeral was two weeks after Van Rook's, their family burying him in place of his relatives. Not that the man had any. Doyle and Abbey were the closest humans to the man. Only one of the two was, alive, and cared enough about him to do so. There would be no will, no prayers. Not officially anyway. Van Rook had been in the same boat as the Saturdays, he was uncharted, off the grid. Anything that he owned had been stashed in safe houses or hidden so well that they would remain unknown.

They had decided on the burial spot. He'd be tied to their property, tucked neatly away in a sunny corner, which, hopefully, would appease the deceased man.

Mom had somberly joked that the only way he'd be appeased would be to place a grand on his headstone like an offering.

Dad agreed without hesitance. Zak figured that the past between mom and the Russian mercenary would have made his father bitter, but it didn't, if anything his dad looked a little off-put. He wondered if his dad knew Van Rook in college, too.

He wondered how Doyle was doing on his... _vacation_ , the death of his mentor hit him hard. Harder than he'd admit. So, yeah, it worried Zak when Doyle took off with only a vague promise to be able in time for the man's funeral. Speaking of his uncle he sighed, he wondered how he'd take the news of Abbey's passing. Doyle had just lost two incredibly important people to him.

And both of the death's were on Zak's hands, in one way or another.

*He... was not making a good track record for himself. His little black book was filled with three names now. Two if you didn't count Argost. One if you didn't count Van Rook.

Zak would have to call Doyle soon.

But as he sat, somewhat downtrodden, with his thumb hovering over his uncle's contact information he couldn't seem to do it. What if Doyle blamed him, too? He wouldn't— he had faith that his uncle would believe him. After all, it was _Doyle_ , the man who, even when working as a rival mercenary, came back for him in the frozen caves to help him.

On the other hand, Doyle had fallen for Abbey mind-blowingly quick. Zak knew that Abbey had been attractive and intelligent, and from what he remembered— if the person she used to be was, in fact, Abbey and not some watered down facade— then she was cavity-inducing sweet, too. The perfect partner. He didn't know what Doyle saw in her— maybe she combated the bitter life he trudged through or maybe she understood something about him that no one else did. Zak didn't know, and it wasn't his place to go snooping.

He took a shaky breath. He didn't want to be the one to make the call, but he had to be. Doyle would take it better coming from him. He would try to tear dad's throat out, and with mom, he'd be forced to through up a front to not worry her.

He owed his uncle this much, at the very least.

Ringing fluttered out of the communicators' speakers.

Zak hoped his uncle would pick up before he lost his nerve.

The _ring, ring, ring_ of the call tone had a somewhat soothing effect. It was repetitive, and ungodly shrill, but it drowned out the other insecurities that bounced around in his head like bouncy-balls. It had calmed him enough that his uncle's flamboyant greeting hadn't startled him out of his skin.

" _Heyyyyy_! Zak-man!" There was a brief pause and a slurred mumble, "So, how's your vacation from being, you know, the savior of the world goin'? Lemme' tell you, the Bahama's are _rockin_ ' this time of year." Another pause accompanied by a cat call, "Have you checked the mail recently? 'Cause you gotta do tha' before Drew does— she'd kill me." Zak groaned. His uncle obviously wasn't in the right mind and he _did not_ have the patience to deal with this. Maybe he should call back later.

"Doyle?" He questioned, "Is this a bad time? I can call back later—"

"No!" His uncle yelled and Zak had to pull the com away from his ear, "'is all good, what's up? Lay it on me Mini-Man."

His teeth dug into his lip as he pulled his free hand away from his shirt, Beeman's snarky comment from earlier still ringing in his ears. Looking down he decided to rip the bandage off fast, "Don't— Look, this is kinda serious and I just— don't freak, okay?"

"C'mon, Zak just spit it out—"

"Abbeymayormaynotbedeadandwearen'tsurewhybutit'snotmyfault, so yeah." He exhaled the words in a jumbled murmur. The confidence he had waned fast, depleting the moment _her_ name touched his lips. He was worried, the line hadn't died but it was silent.

"Sorry," his uncle started, sounding slightly sober, "can you repeat that? I don't think I heard right."

Zak recoiled. While his voice hadn't lost its up-beat tilt, it appeared to be thawing and unsure. Doyle heard it right the first time, but he didn't believe it. Swallowing down his shame, he pushed past his earlier hesitance and gripped his shirt and _tugged_ , "Abbey's... gone."

The line went silent again, he slumped against the wall as his ears picked up on a sharp inhale and a string of curses, "Zak, if this is your idea of a joke, I'm _not_ laughing." His teeth ground against each other as he pushed down his frustration.

"Why would I joke about this?" He snapped, he had seen too much of death too soon to even find it remotely funny. Looking down he eyed the frayed hems of his pajama pants and debated if he should bother changing into different clothes. It's not like he was leaving the airship today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon in the foreseeable future, actually.

"I'm sorry I just— I don't, I didn't mean— _goddamnit."_ A crash, heavy breathing and a ragged exhale, "Zak?" And Zak wanted to hang up the moment his name slipped out of his uncle's mouth. Because it was small, and it was soft despite the frustration he _knew_ Doyle was going through. Doyle was trying to be strong but his walls were crumbling and Zak wasn't there to comfort him— Zak wasn't even sure he _could_. He could barely hold _himself_ together much less the mess of emotions Doyle was.

But _damn_ Zak because he couldn't leave Doyle in the state he was in, "Doyle, it's— it's _okay_. It's just me."

Zak pretended his heart didn't wither away as sobs echoed from the speaker.

"It's _okay_ ," he mumbled again despite his quivering lips, "it's _okay_." He pressed his hand against his mouth to muffle his own cries.

* * *

Zak didn't have the heart to entertain his siblings today, he had brushed them off with an excuse of feeling under the weather. He had informed his parents of his call; he didn't explain, not that they expected him too but his mom didn't say a word when he slumped against her side. She had only looked down at him with worried eyes and kissed his forehead. His father had told him that they'd be home soon.

He worried that home wouldn't come soon _enough_.

Slumping into his seat he was glad that he wasn't asked many questions. He was content watching the clouds pass by. He would deny that a small part of him— _the childish part that he couldn't afford to be anymore_ — toyed with the idea of the ship flying fast enough to leave his muddled brain in the dust.

His palm dug uncomfortably into his cheek, not that he shifted his position, it was the only thing keeping him aloft. The discomfort reminded him of where he was, of who he needed to be. But it was hard because he _saw things_ when he closed his eyes—

 _long stretches of burning fields,_

 _bottomless depths that pulled, pulled, pulled him in,_

 _forests that would swallow him whole and vines and thorns that dug into his thick hide._

—His heart skipped a beat as he was dragged back into reality.

His nails curled into his cheek. He couldn't keep doing this to himself.

* * *

"God." Drew couldn't help but inhale as the ruins of her home appeared in the horizon. They never had the time— had the freedom— to begin rebuilding. Hunting down Argost and protecting Zak took top priority. And then with Tsul'Kalu, she hadn't had the time to really soak it in. It made her sick, if she hadn't heard Fiskerton whimper over her shoulder she might have said worse. Though her maternal instincts were nagging at her to comfort her fuzzy son she simply couldn't. Not out of spite, or anger, but seeing the destruction had anchored her in the seat. Any other time she would have been fidgeting in her seat, excited to check out the ruins they've discovered— but now, the ruins, they were her _home_. Not some great conquest or a secret to unlocking an archaeological mystery.

Instead of seeing an adventure Drew saw distorted and blurred memories.

How many? She wondered. How many childish scribbles did she lose? Zak's baby book, was it ruined? Or Fiskerton's art collection? The drawing of their family that he made the day after they brought him home. Or Komodo— she had managed to recover the egg he had hatched from. Had it been crushed to pieces under the weight of the rubble? And then there was the photograph, the one of herself, Doyle, and her parents. It was the only thing she had left of them. And as her eyes scanned the destruction she could only assume the photo had gone up in flames.

A chill gnawed at her fingertips just like _that_ day. When she had been separated from her family by that despicable monster all she could think of was the hopelessness and numb acceptance that her life was _gone_. It was only _Human_ to mourn for the things she had lost and yet she felt greedy. Her family, her beautiful, wonderful, _alive_ family was safe and yet—

A warm, broad hand kneaded her shoulder. Her husband's comforting, anchoring aura filled her senses. It was one of the things that pushed her to marry him, to start a family with him. Doc was _consistent_ , never changing or doubting. He was a rock that balanced out her chi. His life essence colored a dull blue meshed and warped around her own frantic energy. She blinked, and the aurae were gone but her husband wasn't.

"We can rebuild, Drew."

"Yeah, yeah we can. C'mon," she called out with renewed vigor, "what are we waiting for?"

The airship hovered briefly before stabilizing 15 meters above the ground. Her fingers idly input the code to lower the ramp. Releasing her seatbelt, Drew stood on her tiptoes and pushed her shoulders up relishing in the popping that followed. Turning, she let a grin creep onto her face at the thought of living domestically and unthreatened again, "We've got work to do before Doyle comes home."

Doc had already made his way to the door but his eyes stayed locked on their son who looked like he didn't even notice they landed. Shooing him away with small hand signals she reached down and unclipped his seatbelt and ruffled his hair. His eyes, which were misty and unfocused, snapped to attention, "Welcome back to Earth, Honey." His shoulders slumped slightly as he took in the sight of their broken house. Humming she pulled him up from his seat and patted him softly on the back, "I know it looks bad now, but we're going to fix-it-up, good as new. I promise."

"Yeah... I know," he smiled lamely, "just... tired, is all." She knew he was lying but she didn't push it. He was more than likely drained from dealing with her emotionally constipated brother. But that was _all_ going to change. Starting now. They'd get their house back, get some peace and quiet and Zak— Zak was going to get a heaping dose of 'normality' until he was, at the very least, sixteen. He had been pushed into maturing too fast and she was going to take care of it. No more stepping up to the plate for him. He was benched until further say so.

She was his mother, and she was going to start acting like it. She had been rather lax given the consequences and it was time to tighten up her bolts. She wasn't getting any younger, and Zak was only getting older. He was her baby, probably the only one she'd biologically have and she felt like she was wasting his childhood.

Her lips twitched upward as she hurried him out the ship, his demeanor perked up as she kept up a constant chatter. Allowing a mischievous smirk to dance onto her lips she held her chin thoughtfully, "Oh, but where ever would we fit the game room? I guess we _could_ squeeze it between the living room and gym."

Mentally patting herself on the back as her son chirped excitedly about getting a few retro arcade machines, she congratulated herself on a job well done.

* * *

From the moment that their feet hit the ground the family knew they'd be in for a few rough hours of labor. The ruins that remained were rather violate but considering they've had experience putting their house together after a raid Doc didn't stress. Buildings were fixable, people weren't. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried about the future. Doyle, mostly, but Drew and Zak were high up on that list too. His wife and child would find themselves, in time, but Doyle... Doyle would need to vent.

Knowing the ginger, and Doc would like to think he knew him well enough, he was sure that he would hold off dumping his stress on his sister or nephew. His pride was too big to swallow. If Zak's solemn mood was anything to go by Doyle wouldn't be shaking off the passing of his ex-girlfriend well. Coupled with Van Rook... He'd have an emotional mess of a man on his hands in a few hours time.

Scrubbing his hands down his face he quickly opened up the holo-pad that sat idly built into his armband. Typing in the number of their trusted construction company he gave a quick summary of the damage and offered extra for speedy service.

From their last visit home, he knew most of the layers were still intact, it was a matter of figuring out which layers were unstable and which they could begin working on themselves. The armory still stood strong, as did Drew's cryptid-garden sanctuary, a quick scan revealed that one of the training rooms were completely untouched and an entire underground wing had remained undisturbed. Luck was on their side this go around. Sending in Komodo to navigate the halls he managed to create a map of the deteriorating hallways and figure out the safest path to proceed inward.

Drew took most of it in stride, his wife seemingly picking herself up from her moment of grief and replacing it with determination. Grabbing a few cleaning supplies from the ship she began clearing away the dust and rubble with extreme precision. While his wife recruited his son to assist in dusting and sweeping, Fisk was stationed in the hall, using his superior strength to place the steel panels back into place and remove the larger pieces of debris.

The company that he dialed a few hours ago had turned up and swiftly followed his instructions. Doc currently worked alongside four other men to unload supplies and draw out a new floor plan. They'd have to work from the bottom up, which was no problem to Solomon seeing as while they focused on the bottom layer another crew up top took care of bulldozing the wreckage remaining from their old home. They had already gone through what they could to salvage any important things they stored in their upper layers. Which wasn't much but it gave all of them a reasonable enough morale boost to keep up their cheerful demeanor.

Being as engrossed in his work as he was Solomon didn't notice the time shift, three more hours had passed since the construction crew had arrived. The main hallways were now safe and walkable, the collapsed rooms on level three were cleared of rubble, and above ground, the construction crew had laid their foundation. He had just wiped the sweat off his brow when he heard the telltale sound of a jetpack roaring.

From the sky, the ex-mercenary descended. His jaw was locked and his normally expressive eyes were schooled into an icy glare. It was as if he regressed to the man they had found fighting alongside Van Rook a year ago. The one that had been washed away and replaced with a man who knew the treasures of a family. Doyle had reverted as to hide from the inevitable pain and anguish that would come.

Solomon wasn't sure if he was ready for the brewing storm.

* * *

As he landed he observed the African-American man that stood tensely in front of him. From the depths below the rest of his family rushed out, each of them regarding him with caution. And Doyle, despite his woebegone disposition, still attempted to light the mood, "I like what you've done with the place."

His nephew, ever the ball of sunshine, joined his attempt to defuse the dreary atmosphere that surrounded them like fog, "Yeah! Heh... the latest trend?" Mini-man's attempt was appreciated though not long lived.

Professor stepped forward and shrugged off his sister's hand, "I assume you'd prefer no sugar coating?"

"Lay it on me." Doyle shrugged.

They walked in silence back into the gaping maw that was left of the underground stronghold. As Doyle took in the crumbling remnants he compared it to the direction his life was going. Maybe he would end up destroyed, too.

Drew lightly placed her hand on his arm, she had stopped in front of one of the more spacious, untouched, rooms they had cleared out; their temporary camp until the construction would be completed. Propping himself up on the closest wall he eyed the family and took regret in watching them complete their nervous habits. His sister, for example, tucked and untucked the same lock of hair behind her ear; his nephew fiddled with his fingers, shirt, and pants— just to keep his hands busy, and fuzz-ball couldn't even look him in the eye, he was too preoccupied with biting his nails. Though the thought of Abbey's... _passing_ , laid heavy on his chest he knew the Saturday's had, most likely, done everything they could.

"Look," he began, "Abbey died. There's," he choked, "there's _nothing_ that you could have done. Just give it to me straight, okay? What happened."

And he knew— he _knew_ it wouldn't be that simple because professor, for once in his life, didn't know what to say. He _babbled_. Doc explained that they were gathering supplies and trying to rest before they made the trip home and that the secret scientist had arrived— he took a special interest in the fact that Zak flinched and gained a haunted look in his eyes at the mention of the group of smart-asses— and Zak disappeared to later return with Abbey's mutilated corpse.

Demurely Zak stepped forward, his head hung low and his fingers twirling the hem of his shirt, "She was here— for me, but then— It's unclear, foggy? I still can't, um, recall what happened but dad found cryptid DNA traces over her... body. But I _swear_ Doyle, I searched really hard, there was no cryptid around for _miles_!"

"It's okay, I believe you." He quickly responded as he clasped his trembling hands over Zak's smaller ones before they could wear a hole in his shirt, "Do you know if she," Doyle quickly cleared his throat, "was it fast? Did she suffer?" It was a childish question, more befitting to be asked by the cherub-faced boy in front of him but he couldn't bear the idea of his girl— his _ex_ -girlfriend, his beautiful ex-girlfriend who had a competitive streak a mile wide, who smelled like tangerines and had a secret delight for romance novels; Abbey, the woman who bit his lip and dragged her fingers through his hair making silent halleluja's break from his lungs, Abbeygale Grey, the woman who made him feel like he wasn't a fuck up— being in pain.

"We don't know." Rage, cold and violent washed through his veins, clawing away at the walls he built up. His blunt nails bit into the leather that encased them as if they were the final frontier. His sister was cold too, detached as she relayed harmful information. And he hated her for it. He hated Solomon for standing as distant as he was. He hated Zak too, for not saving Abbey, but most importantly he hated himself, for not being there.

"What do you mean, ' _you don't know_ ,'?" The question slipped through his gritted teeth.

Drew took a cautious step forward, "Zak can't remember anything from the incident. Trauma is my best guess, whatever happened Doyle, it was... bad."

Doyle regarded his sister who stood firm and unyielding in front of her son, defensive, almost. Her eyes were sharp, not soft or welcoming, she was goading him to say something— to speak his mind— and the neglected part of him, the one who still cried out about the injustice he faced as a child whispered tantalizingly sweet in his ears.

 _Can't or won't remember, Zak?_

He bit his tongue willing the malicious thoughts out of his mind. He wouldn't push his aggression off onto a child that could barely look him in the eye.

"Well then, when's the funeral? Are we getting a two-for-one?" Sue him, because why confront your emotional issues when you had humor and quality one-liners to dull the pain? God, did he want to lash out and burn them all with his hurt because it felt like the Himalayas all over again; the grit of the wind against his cheek, the light-headedness and lack of oxygen and the riping of a hand from his.

It was just his luck to lose two of the most important people to him in less than a week's time.

Only this time? There wouldn't be any surprise reunions.

Solomon stepped forward and placed a hand gently, lovingly, around his wife's waist, "Actually, we weren't invited." Drew leaned into the broad expanse of her husband's chest, her fingers intertwining with his. Watching them was painful, it was a cruel mockery of what he and Abbey could have had. The older man, for once, looked properly apologetic towards him, "Some people weren't as... understanding, to what occurred." Disbelief and anger must have painted an interesting picture on his face, judging by the way his sister and brother-in-law quickly averted their gaze.

He could— he _should_ — leave, blast off into the dimming sun and if he was lucky _maybe_ , just maybe, he could reenact a scene from one of the fables he had heard from the orphanage in Rome. He had soared too high, let his mind escape him, and because he let his walls crumble he would _burn_. But he couldn't, he had obligations, connections that he couldn't sever. He had planted his roots and now he was stuck. Trapped by the same dream he longed for as a child.

Besides, even if he wanted to go— he couldn't leave behind the pitiful child before him. His nephew looked tired, more than a child should ever look, with his face buried in Fiskerton's matted fur. Grief clung to the air around him like a finely woven blanket. And Doyle, Doyle needed to understand he wasn't the only one suffering. He was turning into a chump, letting pesky feelings could his judgment. He hadn't survived this long only to roll over because of an emotional wound.

His hand raked through his hair, it was time for him to get his head back into the game.

And later that night, when he bit down roughly on his hand to quiet the pathetic whines that escaped his lips, he reflected. It wasn't healthy, but he was alive. And life was for the living, the memories of the dead should stay just that. Dead. What he and Abbey shared hadn't been as serious as he wanted, or as truthful as he craved, but it was enough. And he was thankful for their time together; he had to let her go because, in the end, she was just another forgotten face.

Maybe it was because he knew deep down that he and Abbey wouldn't work out or maybe it was the sanction his family provided, but he was able to swallow the bitter pill that was burying Van Rook. The days leading up to his funeral were slow, the time crawling by, and sparsely were words spoken with enthusiasm by anyone but Drew. The rebuilding continued, another level being cleared; the ware and tare were starting to show on his face but like his home, it was being patched over, made new.

Doyle found comfort in that, that his home— his family— still stood. They stood strong as Van Rook's coffin was lowered into the soft, damp, earth. It's maw wide open and suffocating like it was hungry, waiting to consume the body that was cold and unmoving. And it was painful, Doyle murmured to Drew as she placed a hand on his shoulder, it was painful to let him go.

Drew hummed in agreement, many years ago she had loved him and though the feelings were null it still felt bitter to see him go. Doc felt the same way, he thinks, the man had been silent on the matter but the quick looks he flashed his wife let Doyle know what he needed. Doc would never be able to repay Van Rook for his sacrifice. Zak agreed, but Doyle didn't have to ask to know, the child who held his hand respected the deceased man greatly. They hadn't talked much but Doyle knows Van Rook would have loved Zak's smart-mouth and quick wit.

The day was beautiful, not raining like in the movies and he fully believes that it's his mentors doing. Van Rook had hated the rain more than he hated spending money. The sun danced high and shone down on the small but respectful group. Ulraj and Wadi had asked to come; they had seen the man maybe once or twice but held no ill feelings towards him. And Ulraj and gifted him a gold sash to lay on the coffin, a hero's treasure, he told him quietly. The sash would guide Van Rooks spirit to Nirvana and Doyle had laughed thankful that Van Rook would go somewhere other than hell.

For the first time since the war, time seemed to stop. The earth still spun but Doyle was frozen; only broken out of his trance by the squeeze of the warm hand he held. Doyle openly sobbed but he did it with pride. He was not ashamed to cry for his father-figure, Van Rook was the only one he had. Van Rook had saved him from the streets, he had raised him.

Eventually, when the sun had reached its peak and the fish prince had wheezed that his scales were getting chapped Drew announced that she would bring the children home. Wadi had hesitated, her fingers ghosting Zak's sleeve as she whispered a goodbye. His nephew only smiled softly and asked that she visit soon. With the first three leaving, Doc followed, he claimed that the construction crew returned. Komodo followed after giving Doyle a small wack with his tail.

Only three remained yet the tiny headstone observed them with cold indifference. Zon, not mentally up to par with her brothers still comprehended the complexity of the situation. She had enjoyed the company the Russian had provided. She understood that he would be around no longer. She did her best, nudging her red chick with her beak and clicking slowly, to make sure her sympathy would travel the distance.

Doyle— he was grateful. It was enough, and he knew it was enough for Van Rook too. Giving a faint squeeze to his nephew's hand he placed the carnations he held on the tombstone.

"I'm going to miss you, you greedy bastard."**

* * *

*Zak considers all three of their deaths to be his fault, you can make a case for all of them, especially for Abbey as he wasn't aware. However, because of how all the scientists are acting he fully takes the blame for it. With Van Rook he feels guilty, if he was there that wouldn't have happened. And with Argost, he understands it was for the greater good so it doesn't bother him much- well, it _would_ but considering he both tricked someone into their death and died himself on that day obviously his faux-kinda but not- suicide attempt takes more attention.

So, this time around, during the phone call scene, I almost cried? Like, the dialogue was cut down a little but I didn't actually change any of it? I only added a curse to Doyle? But it hits me harder? To be fair I was listening to Dear Evan Hansen at the time, maybe that was the issue?

There are a lot more things I'd _like_ to explain but the point of a story is to figure it out and puzzle it for your self- that being said if anyone's interested in talking feel free to review so I know your thoughts (I tend to reply to reviews in chapter) or pm me! I also have a skype and discord if that's preferred.

**I like the idea of Doyle using humor to say goodbye, he let out all his angst so he could properly say bye to his father. (Van Rook is very proud and is probably pit-pocketing in Nirvana.)


	7. Meliorism

_I was fairly inspired so I churned out this chapter pretty quick, I'm so sorry for any god awful errors! I think I do good but then I look back **after** I post it and spot like ten. Wtf me. Wtf. Anywhoooo Twiggerwarning-ish for latin, vague impliance of depression, and Ulraj being a racist lil shit, oh and cursing. I curse a bit. I know Ulraj seems quiet in this chapter but theres a reason I swear! it'll be in the next chapter. Also the formating may be iffy because I input my writing out of google docs, to grammarly, to the grammar checking on my computer and then to here, so a lot gets messed up and scrambled in the process. Let me know what you think and any ideas you have!_

 ** _To Subtle Shenanigans: Doyle had a shit ton of repressed issues in cannon, ill fight anyone who doesn't think that :U, the same with Zak being a ball of anxiety and self hatred. My children need love and support. I HC that he gets attached to anyone who'll look at him as a person seeing as he was passed to foster home to foster home. I feel that, i'm what my friends call a "retarded genius." Anyway the titles may be easy to get but how will they link to the finale or plot ;3 And i'm trying to keep it going at an even time scale but lemme tell you, the up coming "cryptids" involve slender man. I don't know if im joking yet or not so take that how you will x'D_**

 ** _To Magenta Mustang: Precious child you make me blush. Thank you so much! This is the first story that i've actually taken initiative to plan out so I hope its well received! As for characterization I just watched certain episodes. over. and over. and I think its fun to try to step into that characters place and see what they feel._**

 ** _Thank you, two beautiful people, for the reviews, they give me that dank life energy._**

* * *

As fast-paced as their daily lives were, it was no surprise that they weren't given much mourning time, they already had a distress call. Drew's old home, the Tibetan Temple, had been placed under quarantine. To Doc, it had sounded ridiculous. The head monk had come down with some great, mystical, curse. It was contractible, which meant that all in the temple had caught the "curse." The Scientist was more than eighty percent sure that they had simply come down with the flu and were overreacting.

With his disinterest came Drew's panic. Apparently, monks didn't come down with illnesses. Solomon even suggesting it be something so simple had irritated his partner, with a death glare and muttered cursing, simply putting it, she left. Oh, and she took their son and a fish king, too. She left leaving him in charge of an emotionally distressed ex-merc, an unhelpful Fiskerton Phantom, and a bored Komodo Dragon. Drew being Drew, had to take the tamer cryptid, which left him the troublemakers.

Yes, it would be a long three days, Doc decided as he watched _his_ airship take off. Taking a glance back at the despondent Doyle and the slightly better-looking ruins of his house he knew he'd have his work cut out for him.

* * *

"I don't appreciate this weather." Ulraj kindly reminded the two Saturdays for the fifth time since they landed in the Himalayas.

"Then why did you insist on coming? If the temperature is too much for your kingly body you can always go back to the airship." Supplied Zak, equally as kind in his retort.

Drew fed up with the constant chatter turned to scold the two children that followed, "If you two don't shut it _both_ of you can go back to the airship. This is serious business! Whatever latched onto the monks could be life-threatening. You'll both have to be on your best behavior. Am I clear?"

Both nodded rather sheepishly as they continued to scale the snowy mountain. Zon had wisely kept her maw shut and observed the desolate landscape. She did not enjoy it at all! She could tough it out for her family, though, the walking fish was starting to smell obscenely delicious. The prehistoric bird knew better, Zak, her fleshling, enjoyed its companionship so she would not indulge in the urge.

The white flurries had thickened and more than once had they been forced to duck behind a rock formation. After sitting out the worst of the snow they continued onwards. Luckily, the temple was in sight, the sooner they got indoors the better.

Unlike the last time Drew returned to her home, there were no greetings, silence remained. Getting the children to assist in opening the great door the woman gasped at the state of her old home. The stench of death and decay permeated the surrounding area. The large hollow of the temple served as a sick bay with several white cots lined up neatly. She recognized several of the men who raised her, all of them lie crippled before her feet, even the newer, younger men were lost to the curse's influence. Several could not find the energy to look in the rescue parties general direction.

Doc was very wrong in his theory. This was no simple sickness. She could feel dark mysticism lurking in every corner. Quickly shutting the door as to not let any chill in Drew heaved out a sigh and turned to the wary children.

The woman's son ever curious observed the less than stellar surroundings, "This is where you were raised, mom? Kinda… unimpressive."

"Zak, I know you just _love_ to never listen to anything I say, but this is a very delicate situation. Do not, and I repeat, _Do not_ , touch anything and if you even feel so much as a tingle down your spine, get me _immediately._ That goes for you too, Ulraj." She spoke in hushed tones as to not disrupt any of the ills rest.

The king, after his prolonged silence finally spoke, "Madam Saturday, if I may inquire, what.. Exactly is the problem here? Have they contracted a disease? I admit the aura here is less than perfect but I've come to understand that the Human Race is a letdown." He spoke smugly, not even blinking at his racist diss.

Refraining from smacking the Kumari King she settled for a glare before explaining, "Feel your surroundings, Ulraj. Can you feel the negative chi? I would have expected more from you, being king and all, after all, the energy is practically wedged in every nook and cranny."

Her bright boy perked up, "Is that why the air feels so heavy in here? I thought it was just because of the mountain's altitude." His revelation sparked embarrassment and anger in the Kumarian. Drew was proud of her son for noticing, but she did admit to some smug pride, her son did just best a king. Enough nonsense. She was supposed to be the adult in this situation.

As the group traveled further into the temple the lingering dark juju got worse. Zon was forced to stop after the regurgitated her breakfast on the smooth tiles. The dark energy was no joke and Zak questioned how they managed to get so much of it stuck in one place. The energy given off by the Naga's relic seemed puny and insignificant compared to this. The winding hallways were nearly pitch black, the only saving grace being the rarely seen torch here and there. His mother seemed to get more anxious with every step they took, he couldn't imagine the despair she had of seeing it in ruin, he began to fret. Whatever would be at the end of the path would be mega-nasty.

If this had been any other time the biracial boy was sure the temple would be a magnificent sight to behold. His mom often spoke of it as bedtime stories when he was younger; the sight from the walkways was heavenly and the techniques they practiced were divine. He distinctly remembered her gushing over the waterfall tucked away in the backmost rooms, they had divinations that made the water go in reverse, or so she said.

Now, in the dark recesses of the building, it was more creepy than homely, the supporting pillars were winding and had writing twisted around the columns like snakes. Shadows hung overcast and clung to their figure like a blanket. The pictures engraved on the walls seemed to spark and sizzle with restrained mystic energy. Or rather - _contaminated energy_. He could feel it leaching from the walls and trying to burrow its way into his skin. Zak repressed a shiver and moved on.

On their right doors began popping up more frequently. Some of them had writings, others had pictures, the majority were covered in sutra papers. His mom had stopped at one nondescript door, he glanced around in confusion, there was nothing _special_ about the door. Bland with no decoration like the others. Drew reached out to grab the handle when a loud crackle resonated through the corridor. Curling around the door was a purple miasma. Its murky essence thickened with each second. Tiny bolts of static shimmered and coursed through the thick gas, spiritual energy, but not?

He could feel the gas was laced with holy energy, but it felt horribly sinister, he thought it was similar to the corrupted energy but this was a whole other subject. The forces behind the curse had to be unbelievable strong to create such a mashup of energy. Ulraj had hissed and backed away from the door, his face scrunched up in pain, "Miss Saturday, I do not think it wise to travel through his door."

His mother's face was grave as she shook her head, "We have to. This is the head monks room. Stand back and duck." Unsheathing her fire sword her turned away as a bright, pale blue light exploded from the weapon and crashed into the aura that covered their path. A terrible sound, akin to a screech, howled through the confined space as the energy dispersed. The purple mist scurried away from the door, it's trail circling around the three members before evaporating to nothing. His mother quickly puts away her sword and kicked down the door.

A man in dull orange robes sat facing away from them, from his chapped lips fell a string of mutters, his hands twitched and flicked into several complex signs. He sat in a ring of white powered, candles lay in each direction, all of them snapped in half. Though he looked mostly untouched the room was horrible. The walls looked like claws had gouged through the thick wood and the floor was covered in torn paper from the books and scrolls that were scattered about. In the corner, a lone cot sat torn in two.

*"Fǎshī nǐ hǎo ma?! Can you hear me, it's me, Drew!" His mother gasped as she rushed to his side. The man's mutterings had not stopped but his head had snapped back. His eyes were wide and unseeing but his hand rose to press against the barrier that blocked them.

"Drrr...Drreeww?" The monk's voice was rough and seemed to be overlapped with another's voice.

"Yes, yes! Drew. You called for help six hours ago, remember? Tell me, do you know what caused the plague that settles on this temple?" Zak shifted closer to Ulraj, it was rare to see his mom as panicked as she was now. She was vulnerable, something that Zak thought previously, was not possible for her to be. His friend thankfully sensed his unease and bumped his shoulder reassuringly.

As if snapped out of the trance he was in the monk stood, fear present in his aged eyes, *"No. Bùshì wǒ, nǐ zài zhèlǐ hěn wéixiǎn. Leave, swiftly." With his warning hanging heavy in the air no one seemed to be capable of responding.

"Please, we just want to help.." His mother tried. The monks' eyes rolled and locked onto the two children. The gentle aura of the monk dissipated, at once he was a snarling, raging beast of a man.

"Tu es! Tempus vestri cum transitionibus est hic monstrum! Nazgul salivam huiuscemodi homo iecerit super 'gratia' et 'benevolence', quia locus inferni non est? Et erit in urere flammis tua. _Uri. Uri. Uri. Uri. Uri._ Populi tui ponam faciem meam in vobis Homines metuent; Et erit ultra vos iniuriam timore. Et locutus fuerit homo devorabitur omnis ex vobis patrem, odium!" His body racked with coughing fits at the sheer force he used to speak. Blood spilled from his split lips and splattered against the pure white barrier keeping him contained.

As soon as the color was defiled all noise ceased before a booming crescendo rocked through the temple. Screams tore from each throat and mimicked the sound of the damned. Thunder roared and hissed from outside and the candles flickered in and out of sight. The monk's body was limp as all action paused and reversed.

 _And the world stood still_.

* * *

Doc knew he and Doyle weren't close. They'd never be close; he wasn't like his wife or son, he couldn't make friends with everyone. It was one of the reasons he fell in love with Drew and one of the reasons he loved his son to death. They were special, simply put, that was unbiased. Doc, however, was normal. Horribly normal compared to the rest of his family. He couldn't relate to having an ancient gods power, or being orphaned at a young age, or even being a cutthroat mercenary. And maybe most of the blame fell on him for not trying harder.

Either way, he couldn't leave his brother-in-law in the state he was in. As soon as his wife and son took off any pretense of being okay dropped from Doyle's face. It was pitiful compared to his devil may care attitude. Dark circles lined his eyes, a trophy from a few sleepless nights, and he seemed to wear a perpetual frown. Around his sister and nephew, he kept it under careful wraps as to not bother them but Doc knew Doyle could care less about him.

He waved off the contractors giving them free reign of his house to continue their task, as of now, he officially had a mission to complete. Hunting down the redhead was far more difficult than he first thought it would be. Fiskerton had run just about up the walls in boredom before moving to more destructive activities, namely Komodo, Fiskerton would throw the dragons' ball into the feet of the men who walked past and watched as the Komodo Dragon mauled them until he found what he was looking for. He muffled a snicker and pretended not to notice was his adopted son was up to.

After an hour of searching the African American was fairly certain the man he was looking for had decided to take off. The educated guess was foiled by the jetpack that sat untouched in the central hall. Realistically, he could be in any quadrant of the forest, the watchtower, or… and the recognized genius sighed. Obviously, Doyle would be at Leonidas' grave. Changing course he set off North to the cliff the grave-faced. The trek was peaceful. The destination was not.

It almost seemed wrong. He stood still the shade of the trees and observed the scene before him. Doyle was _quivering_ and heaving sobs like a child. Occasional curses would escape, as would a few pleas, and most disturbing of all was the blatant begging for his life to be taken. Solomon had not truly realized the help Doyle needed before today. Doc had assumed that Doyle would never understand the hardships of life. He had honestly thought that Doyle was some rebel punk that did whatever fits him best at the moments leisure. No one was a mercenary for fun. The man, _boy_ , in front of the grave was emotionally crippled.

And Solomon wanted to help. He couldn't be the constant support and trust that Zak gave him, or the helping and nurturing hand that Drew gave him, but if he'd be damned if he turned his back on him now.

Walking into the sun never felt as refreshing. Placing a hand on the crying mans back he was accepting of the fist that crashed into his face. Slugging it out was something he could do. Grabbing Doyle by the front of his shirt Doc hoisted him up, "Get up."

"Wha-?" Doyle cried in confusion, his eyes blinked rapidly, rushing to clear his vision of the tears.

"You heard me, up." He let go of him slowly making sure the boy was standing on his own. Guilt settled into his heart as he continued his act, if he didn't focus he could almost see Zak in Doyle's position, he couldn't bear to see him so broken.

"Look, whatever you think I did.." He didn't bother to let him finish before he aimed a right hook that landed on Doyle's jaw. He could hear teeth clank together before he let a fist connect to his nose. Wasting no time he quickly tackled the younger boy to the ground. What happened next was nothing but glorified wrestling, "Ugh! What is your deal old man?!" He cried as Doc supplied a brutal headbutt.

"The question is," he choked as Doyle managed to clap his ear momentarily disorienting him, "what's _your_ deal?!" Doyle jerked his legs up, using the momentum to flip their positions and slam Doc's head into the ground.

"Me?! Your the one who attacked me for no reason!" His brother-in-law argued as he caught the punch aimed at his throat. Feinting to the left he allowed Doyle to get a solid three hits before roughly shoving him off.

"You've been acting like a spoiled child for the past 24 hours! If you have a problem then say something!" Solomon rushed to stand and agility moved behind the younger boy before locking him in a Full Nelson.

"I don't have a problem!" He yelled struggling to break the bigger man's hold.

"Bullshit!" He ground out, holding strong, despite the foot that dug into his shin.

"Rgh! What do you think!? How many more people? Tell me how many people will walk out of my life before I'm alone again?! Van Rook's been there since I was a shitty brat on the street, and now he's gone! Abbey, too! I thought maybe she was my saving grace, we, _I_ could have settled down, there could have been something more to me than a fucking punk mullet and childhood issues, okay!? Is it so hard for me to ask for just one person!" Doyle stopped fighting the hold and instead let tears fall once more. Letting him go he walked a respectable distance before motioning for him to go on.

"Zak and Drew too, they just, welcome me with open arms like I'm _not_ sort of criminal. What if.. What if I _hurt_ them? Everyone around me dies, professor. I don't want that for them yet they still stick close to me, like, I don't know, really annoying tape!" His shoulders slumped defeatedly as he started to dry heave, "They're all I have left. I don't want to lose them too." He stopped as his voice cracked. His face flushed red with frustration and embarrassment, and despite how repelling he looked at the moment, Doc thought he finally saw the real, insecure, Doyle.

Clasping his hand on the younger's shoulder he surprised him by pulling him into a hug, oh it was undeniably awkward for them both, but Doyle didn't shrug him off. Solomon could feel hands hesitantly wrap around his torso, "They aren't leaving anytime soon Doyle, none of us are, families stick together. No matter the circumstance. You're stuck with us, and I can't promise that there won't be highs and lows, you are a part of our family. Besides, Zak wouldn't let you leave no matter how much you try now." Doyle laughed.

Without another word they swiftly detangled. Hugs were not going to be a thing. Though, as Doyle swung his arm over Doc's shoulder, well, he couldn't be bothered to remove it.

* * *

The two short sentences are Chinese Simp. from google translate if you want to know the exact words they said. The sum up is "Insert name of monk, are you alright." and to which he responded,"No I did not call you here/ you are in grave danger." That long ass paragraph? That is latin. Translate it if you wanna know what was said, it will however be explained in the next chapter as well as what happened to the monks. Fret not my friends.


	8. Occhiolism

_Firstly; thank you to MagentaMustang who has taken the time to correct my chapter, I look forward to working with you more (And thank you for putting up with me i'm sorry im a bit of a spaz! Secondly; The document... corrupted? for a bit and I had to go through hell to recover it with the added changes so that's why this wasn't up sooner; i was busy also, which, that didn't help either. Lastly; The Tibet section will have like two? three? maybe. chapters left. Then fluff. All things considering I have two tests tomorrow and it's three in the morning and I have yet to study, so uh, wish me luck. I have so much to do but not enough time *depressed sigh*_

 **To Subtle Shenanigans: The wendigo had crossed my mind as well! I'd love to read it if you manage to get around to writing a cryptid circus! I have quite a few cryptids planned to make an appearance so this fic may be ungodly long for an inactive/ crawling out the grave fandom. I've recently started working with Magenta, as the note above states and i've had quite a bit of fun talking about head cannons with them. If you interested in talking about them i'm always here. And sorry if my wording was a bit offensive, I tend to talk first think after; which gets me into a lot of...odd. positions. Three hundred words in to the nect chapter. Thanks for reading and reviewing :3**

* * *

"..Remind me to never accompany you to any other human temples again." Ulraj was the first to speak; the sarcasm laced in his words was used as a poor cover-up to hide the fear he felt.

"Only if you remind me never to visit another temple again." Zak chimed in, equally as perturbed. Though it was only a joke, in his line of work - he'd have to come back, eventually. Staring down the man still sealed in the protective barrier he turned to his mother, "So.. did you get that last bit? He spoke too fast for me to keep up."

Drew looked worse for wear, if he was honest he'd even go as far to say she looked like crap, her face was as pale as her hair and she looked as if she had seen a ghost. Well. Maybe she had seen a ghost, Zak didn't know what just occurred, so he couldn't rule it out.

" _Latin_. He couldn't speak Latin, Zak. He could barely conjure up broken English. He was possessed by something, something old at that." Drew concluded.

"Yes well, what did he say? I'm assuming you speak the language?" Ulraj asked as he stepped closer to examine the runes etched into the ground around the unconscious old man.

"Too fast for me to know for sure but... I did catch _burn_. They wanted something to burn. It's, um, not a very appealing notion, but…" Pausing, her dark blue eyes swept around the room before landing on a few scraps of paper. Bending down to pick up the parchment she narrowed her eyes at the writing before stuffing the paper in her utility belt, "C'mon, we need to head to the archives. I think we may have a lead."

"What did it say-" Zak started.

"Miss Saturday?" Both boys attempted to talk at the same time leading into a rather heated battle of glares. Backing off, Zak huffed and attempted to stay on his best behavior for his already frazzled mom.

"Yes?" The woman answered not bothering to look back at them as they navigated the winding corridor. Every five minutes or so she'd stop and glance at the markings on the walls before taking a different route.

"What are we hoping to find here? You did say the monk was possessed did you not? I must admit I didn't think you as a priest." Ulraj, although someone who had a horrible time understanding sarcasm - he certainly loved to deal it. Though, he had a point.

"Actually; yeah. Mom, how are we supposed to help?" Zak pondered.

Deftly digging out the old scroll Drew slowed to a stop. Motioning for the two to come closer she held out the paper expectantly. Ulraj squinted his large red eyes, "What.. oh- oh no! Rituals like these were banned in my kingdom centuries ago for a reason!" The king panicked slightly as he ranted under his breath, "We must leave. Immediately. You can stay if you'd like Mrs. Saturday. C'mon Zak. Say goodbye to your mom. Possibly for good." The older boy grabbed Zak's arm and began pulling him towards the sound of the sicks' ragged breathing.

"Wait- what?! Ugh, mom?" Zak protested as he dug his heels into the hardwood.

"Zak, I will figure out how to fly that ship _myself_ if you do not proceed with haste." His friend urged as he pulled harder on his arm.

"Ulraj, calm down. I think I know a way to fix this if you'd just cooperate." His mother spoke softly as she put a hand on Ulraj's shoulder. The king grimaced and bit his lip as he thought of his choices.

"Fine. Only on the condition that if we survive, you must get me one of those game boxes, the one that Zak is so fond of." He stated his terms and crossed his arms. Drew reluctantly agreed.

"...Anyone wanna let Zak in on the secret? No rush." The Biracial boy sighed as he quickly grew annoyed with being left out. His mother handed him the paper and traced a few keywords on the page.

" _ **P**_ _rasena_ _ **d**_ _ivination_ , I'd never even thought that the Buddhist would attempt such a ritual. The risks far outweigh the conclusion. This was a suicide mission." Glancing up she caught sight of her sons confused face,"The spell calls down a deity, the _**Khyung**_ , or " _sky-soarer_ ", cousin to the Garuda of India." Zak's head snapped up, he might be in the dark of the Khy-whatever, but he was familiar with the Garuda.

"..Why is calling it down a suicide mission?" His voice wavered as he spoke, he had a bad vibe, and the fact that it was a cousin to a race that _despised_ him didn't help. That wasn't even considering the fact that a _God_ did this. The Khyung had plagued the monks of this temple.

"The spell is performed on the pure, preferably a prepubescent child, the master knew he wouldn't survive the summoning. This is a last resort spell. Used only in dire situations, the Khyung is supposed to answer whatever questions you feed into it.." The Tibetan woman whispered in horror.

Ulraj slipped in between her silence, "So we're left to wonder... What is the question that was so important that the monk would kill himself for?" Direct. Unsympathetic.

Zak's voice was equally as quiet as he inquired, "And we're going to the archives because?"

"Sifu noted down everything. He'd write down any omens or disturbances he felt. Think of it as a journal. Idealistically, he'd write down the question. If not, we'll at least know the cause that pushed him to summon the Khyung." She said with finality. Any conversation ceased as they marched on. The negative energy that swirled around them like smoke had receded. That fact put him more on edge than anything, the miasma had stuck to the dark nooks of the temple. Almost like it was watching, _waiting_ , for something to happen.

Before the mist was clingy and thick enough to drown in. Now it was wispy, like smoke, it traveled. It rolled over their feet like fog and weighed down on them like mud. It was constricting in a way. Similar to that of a cobra once it found its prey. They were being watched; followed. _Toyed_ with.

* * *

Maybe it was a situation thing, but the temple wasn't anything special, not to the extent his mom described it, however, the archives were massive. The large room was separated into three, the middle floor in which they stood, a circular ladder leading downwards into another large room, and then the top section which could be accessed via another ladder. Each room, from what he could see, was filled from floor to wall with books, scrolls, and various, blank, leather-bound pages. In the center of the room sat a great fire. The flames were bright and colorful. Bright blues and purples flared and twirled; almost providing a show for them. Its radiance was exotic in sight and it was bright enough to light up most areas of the room and allowed the mural on the roof to show.

The mural was a depiction of devastation and rebirth. It spread across the entirety of the roof and colors splashed along the marble columns that supported its heavy burden.

The ceiling was washed over with billions of colors, fresh greens, gentle blues, and scorching reds; though he couldn't see all of it he could get the story it told. A monk, judging by the robes, started his journey in a land filled with millions of flowers that sat cradled in a lime green valley he then set off from the land of rising sun, through trees that shed their leaves, before settling into a region that wept snow frequently. Amongst the way, several new faces were added. One in particular; the man from the valley had stood strong and in charge. His face was emphasized with heavy lines that he gained from his journey. This was the founder of the temple. In each region they passed darker colors would begin to dot the edges of the bright painting. Gruesome beings were beginning to enter the picture. Some resembled humans; others were beasts from the darkest nightmares. Soon the creatures became a permanent addition along the sides, as to not disturb the main piece, the several beasts that were drawn to look like demons were subdued at the palm of the founder. In his hands were purple beads that shone with a brilliant light.

It would have been beautiful had Zak not been aware of what was happening. The found had killed and controlled cryptids through the mysticism they taught. How many of the cryptids that lived in the area forced away? Despite how the picture came together; he could not help but feel as if the cryptids had been the victims. He didn't know why he felt this way, but rarely did cryptids attack first, the monks painted them in the wrong colors. He shoved down his anger that came at the thought of someone hurting a cryptid; he reasoned that they didn't know any better. Though he gave them the benefit of the doubt his eye caught onto a certain representation that was splayed on the roof. The prominent representation in the picture being a Xing-Xing. Other cryptids he could trust but he was more than willing to bet that Argost and his ancestors must have terrorized the Himalayas for centuries.

His mind zipped back to the lesson his dad had given him when he was younger. There were no innocent parties in history. The monks could be held for murderers no more than Argost could. He bit his lip and held his silence. His eyes flicked to his mother. She looked happy; he wouldn't ruin it for her.

"Impressive isn't it? Gosh, I remember when I was younger I'd practically lived in here, how the years fly…" Drew sighed as she took in the heavy, and almost over-bearing, scenery of the archive with a fond look on her face. Her fingers skimmed over one of the shelves as she pulled a book at random and cracked it open. A crooked smile twirled on her lips as she showed the book to her tagalongs, "From my SATs."

"..What are these SAT's you speak of..?" The Kumarian asked but only received laughter as an answer.

The white-haired woman snickered into her hand, "Nothing that you'd need to worry about your highness. Anyway, I'll start searching here, Ulraj take the bottom, Zak up top. Call if you see anything dated recently; as late as last month and as early as yesterday." With that, she swayed away to examine a few loose papers that were stationed on one of the two tables in the room.

With their task assigned the two boys parted ways quickly and began combing through the several sources. Both knew that Drew had only sent them off as to not be a distraction; any recent texts would be on the most accessible floor, however, the distraction was welcomed.

* * *

Zak had been sent to the "factual" section; if there was any way to sift through and label the massive amount of articles. His best bet would be to read up on the spiritual aspects of the temple, though it wasn't common knowledge, it was frustrating to be left out of the loop with the Khyung. Luckily for him, the book that held the ritual page his mom found early happened to be sprawled out on the floor.

Picking up the old, leather-bound book he quickly checked it off for any injuries. The only damage seemed to be the torn page his mom held hostage. Seeing as there were small segments of writing still featured on the Khyung he lowered himself cross-legged on the floor and bore down on the page. Beside him, hung up on a rare, empty, book free space was a silver mirror. Not thinking much of the strangely ornate decoration, he leaned against the mirror and began studying the text intently.

* * *

Stroking the gills that hung off of his top lip he strode mindlessly down the library. He'd give it to the land dwellers, they had quite the horde built up, in fact, if the temple wasn't currently a cesspool for godly energy - he'd almost say it was enjoyable here. Almost. The sick human stench wasn't good for his skin. Or his conscious.

Though he was rather... _Crude_ , about his friendship with Zak, he did appreciate the younger boy. Despite the cause being an angry god, he admitted that he was worried, would it be this easy for Zak to fall ill?

Recently his people had been in a stir. His, _his father's_ , closest advisors had stuck by his side in his rule; something he'd be forever grateful about. They were immensely conflicted about his friendship with the Saturday boy. It was rare, even in the past for Kumarians' to interact with those outside their race. The exception being the aquatic life. Though the humans had saved their kingdom, so it was fine, at the time. The Saturdays were a good ally to have, they allowed him to view the outside world, they came whenever he called. If they weren't in a work-related battle, that is. So his people accepted the human family.

That was before his people had gotten ahold of the knowledge that Zak was kur. They went along with the war against Argost simply for the fact that Zak was on their side, and that he demanded it, that helped also. Now that the crisis had ended the discussion was back into the water. One-half of his people urged him to become closer with Kur. So that if he were to go into a frenzy; they'd have protection. The other half protested, exclaiming that he should exit their friendship as quickly as possible. Once again, if Kur were to lose his bearings - Kumari Kandam, they'd be out of the line of fire, they could vanish into the recesses of the ocean without a trace.

He'd put up every fight he could. During his younger years, he had been taught everything a king should know; all the emergencies that could occur, including Kur. Yes, the demented monster had been used as a story to ensure he behaved, however, the beast he was told of wasn't Zak. The Zak he knew was kind, childish to a fault, and trusted anything that could breathe. Simply put; he was an idiot.

Refusing both routes had put him, his leadership, and his people at a standstill. But he did not loathe his decision. He'd support Zak until he inevitably perished. Though his resolution was firm; a seed of doubt had been planted. Coming to the temple had merely watered it, giving in an incentive to grow - almost like a tumor, rather than a seed.

Normally, he wouldn't allow a trace of doubt to cloud his mind, he was a wise king after all. However, amongst the tombs lay a single, plain, and quite frankly unmemorable book. That book was dedicated to the monster that roamed; Kur. At first, he had only picked it up out of curiosity and after skimming through the first page he slipped it in his satchel because of irresolution.

The book was written by a man, supposedly, named Gilgamesh, a good thousand years ago and the first paragraph on the page had embossed itself into his brain.

 _The start of the end, the lament of the_ _ **Hero**_ _Gilgamesh,_

 _and the damnation of the_ _ **malicious God**_ _Kur._

 _{To which is the extent should one go to prove a point? Why should the collective forces of Man, Beast, and Plant cower under the wretched soul of a banished god? One such as he whom was cast away from Nirvana rule; while we, the men who work for such pleasures, are forced to bite and scrounge on the scraps he's left behind? The damned ogre cared for no one but he. For every tool and settlement that man produced; another burned in its place. Wretched,_ _ **carnivorous**_ _, cur - the God,_ _ **devil**_ _, with many names and faces each more grotesque and bilious than the last. A mongrel! A coward! Snap, snap,_ _ **snap**_ _, go the necks of those who dare speak his name. No man, nor beast spared. The creature that_ _ **kills his own flesh**_ _. Disgusting. Wicked._ _ **Decrepit**_ _. Abominable._ _ **K u r.**_ _}_


	9. Vaticinate

Hey Guys! Its ya boi Ash, back at it again with the decently quick updates, now, we are encroaching on our last chapter of the Tibetian/Getting (and subsequently losing) our shit back together again. If you haven't noticed Ulraj and Drew interactions are becoming my favorite, the two should not be locked in a room alone, my sassy children! Now lemme explain before I get you guys too confused, the Khyung is an actual Tibet folklore god, he shows the future and can appear in a mirror, pre-pubescent boys, and thumbs. Im not shitting you. Well that's the basics at least if you wanna know more than I don't cover then go check it out for yo selves. Any questions are welcomed, as always read and review, I like knowing how you like/think of the chapter even if its flames. Also, im going to be pointing out weaknesses a lot more in the story, aka, Doyles depression, Zak's anxiety, and Drews obession for domestication. (spoiler ish for future chapter) We will also figure out why Doc is so obsessed with family and therefor losing it. Next chapter is more transition/ insight than anything, well only insihgt if you get the drift but ill probably explain it in next chapters end note anyway.

Anywho, once again thanks to my lovely beta MagentaMustang, and enjoy the read!

* * *

As Ulraj heard the small taps of footsteps he shoved the old book into his shirt. _Out of sight but not out of mind_. He'd study the book - just to settle the fire of ambiguity that blazed in his stomach. Until he had the alone time he'd have to focus on the task at hand. Though he found nothing useful, to the current search party, that is, he wanted to contribute in any way possible.

He did admit that he was expecting Zak. Instead, he got the elder, Zak's mother, though he didn't like her all that much. She was quite the nag. She reminded him of the court women who took care of him when his mother passed on. The woman was much kinder than the Kumarian maids, he'd give her that much, but still, who was she to give orders to a king?

"Ulraj." She addressed him so informally too; she'd get beheaded if she did that in his kingdom. He was a benevolent king though, so he'd let her get away with it.

"If you're looking for Zak he is still upstairs, where you left him." He supplied politely. He did not have the time for idle chit-chat when there was a metaphorical fire burning his chest to ash. Still, Zak's mother did not leave him in peace, instead, she placed her hand on his shoulder, guiding him into the corner of the labyrinth of books. _This was it_. She was going to maul him. He _knew_ she'd had it out for him.

"It is rather suspicious that you've placed me in a corner, _a dark one at that_ , perhaps I should get Zak." He spoke aloud as he pinned her in place with a glare.

"What? Where did you even get the idea- _ugh_. Look, I may have found something but," She started as she crouched to his level.

"But? This is still incredibly shifty. Why did you not gather both Zak and me?" He replied, staring evenly at her disgruntled grimace.

"Ulraj. Would it kill you to shut up for _just_ a moment so I can explain? Zak can't know about this. He's had a hard time lately and I don't think this would help him." The words trailed softly off her lips. A secret to keep from Zak?

"...I'm listening."

"Good; because I think I just found a last will and testament."

* * *

Zak yawned and forked his neck to the right, the snapping and cracking vibrating through his body, the sounds of bones clicking in his neck as he worked out the kinks were music to his ears. The book - well, it had been mostly a bust. Though a few scribbles remained of the Khyung, the important bits, or what they assumed was important, had been stripped from the remaining pages. Though he had seen a small section saying that the Khyung could show bits of the future. Most of the information he probably needed was on the page left with his mom. Letting his head fall back he winced as a bright light reflected from the mirror next to him.

Bright light?

Scrabbling up to his knees he examined the mirror. It wasn't special _per-say,_ it was something he'd expect to see in a temple, it was made from heavy iron with a surface dull with a film of muck. Though it was bland, it had its charm… the light from the fire had reflected and danced on its surface. The flames a mere imitation that twirled thoughtlessly. As his fingers reached out to brush the film of dirt off the mirror, he sat oddly captivated, watching his thumb clear a path through the filth.

His thumb began to tingle. Small pinpricks traveled from his fingertip to his veins, running up his arm and collecting in his heart, pumping through him back to his fingertips. _Repeat, inhale, repeat, inhale, continue; finish the cycle, a wildfire branching into his lungs._ Just like the flame; intense and burning. But homely, warm and welcoming and it was pulling him. Embracing him firmly and drawing him inwards. And the reflection of the fire, not a reflection, it brightened, its flames painting a picture.

"Ah!" His fingers attempted to recoil but they were stuck, firmly planted on the mirror despite his pulling and, hell, his hand was on fire! The once welcoming heat had turned up and licked its way under his skin and into his very bones. The flames tore away at the fragile skin of the palm leaving behind angry red burns. A muffled screech tore from his throat as he tried to call for help.

His voice refused to crawl out of his throat. It was stuck, wadded up like a soaked tissue, and it refused to budge. Tears pooled into the corners of his eyes and misted over his view. _God, it really fucking hurt!_

Bringing his free hand up, in a moment of sheer panic, he curled it into a fist before launching it at the offended object, his hand struck the mirror but made no progress. It was stuck too. A sickly sweet voice hummed in his ears, the tone light and sugary, its whispers coaxing and soothing. Telling him not to focus on the pain he felt.

 _Audi. Vide._ _ **Tace**_.

The words foreign, _latin_ , his mind supplied. He knew some words - he'd be stupid not to with his mother being as proficient in the language as she was. _These_ , he _shouldn't_ know them, had _no reason_ to know the words. Yet he did. The words rolled over his tongue like wine, they were familiar, recognizable, the words came easier to him than English did.

 _Hear. See._ _ **Be silent**_ _._

Confusion washed over him, the voice in his ear drowning his thoughts in a gentle yet sinister song, he could barely feel the pain in his hands. A quick look down: the flames had grown, the tails of the fire leaving angry red stripes along his forearms. It would devour him - but, really - would he care?

He heard the glass give way before he saw the smooth surface crack. His wrists sunk into the waiting abyss. An unknown force pulled at him, urging him to follow, he could feel it just on the other side. But he could not go. His mother, Ulraj, they needed him. He pulled back. He could not give in yet. Nails sunk into his hands as the force gave another strong tug.

 _Faciam quodlibet quod necesse est. Faciam ut_ _ **mei memineris**_ _!_

 _I'll do whatever it takes. I'll make you **remember me**_ _!_

And - he was pulled! Shards from the mirror scratched his cheeks as the hands grabbed greedily onto his shoulders. Hatred, he could feel it, as if someone could personify it, mold and harden it. And it was magnificent. It was a beast with yellow eyes, a gaping maw, and horribly matted fur. Its gnarly fingers smashed into the rock aside his head - was it a cryptid? His brain chided him for lying to himself, sure they had faced many dangerous adventures, but for once? Zak thought he was in over his head - _the Khyung_. It had come for him.

* * *

The king perked up, "A will and testament you say?" Crossing his arms over his chest he lightly stroked the spine of the book under his shirt, "Delightful." He purred.

"C'mon take this seriously. Look at this." Drew said as she shoved a paper absolutely covered in scribbles towards his face. Cocking a brow he brushed her hand away.

" _I_ , actually, am taking this very seriously. I have no use for a dead man's madness. Summarize it for me." His fingers dug tighter into his shirt, gripping the book for support, he was being quite the hypocrite today.

Her eyes narrowed in fiery contempt as she looked back down to the paper, "...this isn't one of your thirteen surface languages is it?" She spoke haughtily, as if, he could read it. If he wanted too. But he'd allow the mortal woman to think she won. Just this time though.

Taking his lack of response as an answer she cleared her throat, "Well kiddo, 'mad scribbles' aren't exactly wrong, the train of thought is all over but I think I've got it narrowed down. Bad omens, disturbing premonitions, meditations went haywire; the winds of evil had swept over the temple. The head monk said that the feelings made him physically sick. Nightmares galore. None of his spells were working so I assume he broke out the big guns..."

"Those guns being that demented deity?"

"That exact one," Drew confirmed.

"Well, dark powers aside, is there any tip on what the ' _evil_ ' was? If it's bad enough to warrant summoning a temperamental god I'd assume I'd want to go home and cower under my blankets." Perhaps the old man simply could have been off his rocker? Though judging by the grimace on Drew's face he couldn't pin it down as a solid answer.

"This is where the secret comes in to play. His premonitions Ulraj - just jump in if any of them ring a bell, humanity in disarray, animals of old walking the earth, a demon in control… ruling with a scepter of gold. White hair stained red from their victims. Nothing yet?" She paused and closed her eyes, without looking at the paper she let a final string of words fall, "Eyes made from _orange_ hellfire."

A sharp intake of air, " _Zak_."

He said it in nothing more than a whisper but Drew looked up anyway. Determination and anguish in her dark blue eyes, "Zak."

His breathing sputtered as a belly-deep chuckle burst from his mouth, "You had me worried there for a moment."

"What are you-" She interrupted him quickly, but he would not allow a human woman, besides Wadi on occasion, to disrespect him.

"No, _listen_. Animals of old? Humans in a panic? Already happened. Obviously, this monk was not up to date on his readings. Argost is gone, Zak has his powers under wraps, and nobody - at the current time, is planning world domination."

" _'At the current time'_ , we have no way to know for sure that the war of the cryptids won't repeat itself, and I don't like having an unknown variable. What if something happened? What about Rani Nagi, she fled before I could rip her apart _scale by scale_ , what if she comes back for Zak? He's been through enough Ulraj." Everyone had been through enough. She wanted - she had hoped, that they could settle down at least for a short while. Drew Saturday, the _epitome_ of adventure and excitement, wanted peace.

She hadn't had the time to enjoy it with what had gone down in the past year. All the good things in her life, that is, with the weight of finding out her son was an ancient Sumerian evil, a yeti obsessed with her family; the same yeti that murdered her parents without a thought and then Van Rooks' death. She hadn't gotten a break yet. And she was suddenly very tired with the weight of her short years on her shoulders, she wanted to stop running. She wanted to enjoy her family. Her little brother - he was home, with her, safe and sound. Since he arrived she hadn't taken the time to sit down and talk about what happened. She didn't get to know how he suffered during their separation, she wondered, did he have insomnia for years like she did? Did he wait for his goodnight kiss that never came?

And maybe, she'd never know at this rate, her lifestyle allowed her to find her brother again, but it also created a division. She couldn't just drop her work and lick her wounds. She had to be strong, versatile, unyielding.

It was just so hard to be strong sometimes. But Drew was nothing if not strong.

" _If_ ," The Kumarian watched her warily as he picked out his words, "if Rani Nagi returns Zak can handle it. And _if_ he can't, then he has a whole army to come to rescue him, though, you shouldn't worry about it too much. Zak is similar to a cockroach in a way, you can't kill him if you tried hard enough." A book graced her hand, and then the young boy cried out as it struck his head before she even registered hitting him, "okay, perhaps the wording was off - but the point still stands. Zak isn't going anywhere."

Ulraj was a cheeky, pompous, know it all, but… he was growing on her. Like the third, scaly, fish son she never wanted.

She never thought that would be a thought that would cross her mind.

* * *

Ravenous. Sickly yellow teeth coated with spit clacked together inches from his nose. Huge, lime green eyes stared down at him, madness ghosting over its diluted and hazed over pupils like a veil. Black claws each as long as his forearm dug unforgivingly into the slick rock around him, gouges formed as the beast pulled his talons back, the sound of nail chipping away hardened rock grating roughly on his advanced hearing. Spittle flew from its mouth and landed on his face as it heaved a roar that sounded more like a shriek.

 _Khyung._

Its large ruffled wings shot out behind the Khyung creating a barrier between the two and the open sky above them.

 _The sky-soarer._

Lungs struggled to keep pace as he was physically stunned by the radiance the god emitted. He was rendered absolutely _breathless_.

He was lost in the gods' eyes - they were reflective, just like the mirror it dragged him into, he could see himself! He was perched on a throne… a throne of human bones. He was draped across the mighty chair as if he owned it; his eyes were oozing with energy as his head knocked back to reveal a gruesome smirk. That was not him. It was a distorted image - one just like the flashes he saw from Tsul'Kalu. But it seemed darker almost. More realistic than the images Tsul'Kalu fed him out of fear. The image he saw, the replica of him, was bathed in dark mysticism and seemed almost feral in the way he scanned the room.

The question was: a fear or a vision?

 _Zak wouldn't-_

The imitation snarled and lashed out with his weapon.

 _He wouldn't believe-_

A scream, white hair, mom.

 _That wasn't, nor would it ever be_ , _him-_

A hand around the imposter's throat, a cry of anguish from his uncle, his hands gouging the older man's eyes out in a fit of panic.

 _He_ _ **never**_ _wanted to hurt anybody-_

His dad, depression etched in his features as he strapped the fake onto a dissection table, barely holding onto his distraught mother.

 _Zak wasn't dangerous, he could control himself-_

Fisk physically restraining him from once again attacking his mother. _My baby boy_ , she'd shout in terror, _don't take him_ , she'd plead while he was bound in chains and dragged away by the Greymen.

 **He wasn't a monster.**

So why was it that everyone was just so happy to paint him as one. Did his actions prove nothing?! _He would not let an overgrown bird tell him what he was. All he had to do was_ _ **beat it back into its place**_ **.**

* * *

"Just where did he wander off to?" Epsilon muttered as his eyebrow twitched irritably, he simply couldn't process any of the information on the screen, it should not have been this hard to track a juvenile boy.

They, being the Greymen, had taken the liberty after the cryptid war to keep a permanent track on the youngest Saturday. The satellite had been too risky, too flashy for their business, it had ended in failure, one that would not be repeated. They had used far more delicate methods this time. Nanobots. They had released them into the air ducts of the Saturday airship and made sure that each family member had inhaled them. Call it insurance.

They would invade the bloodstream and latch onto the heart and in time, if they played their cards right, they would have immaculate control over the reckless family. Truthfully, it pained him to do so, while he would never consider them friends, one could barely even call them allies, he enjoyed the challenge they provided. Alas, it as a childish way of thinking, rabid dogs had to be put down eventually.

They were simply too unorganized, unsophisticated, elusive. A flaw in the continuity that he'd have to correct. The Greymen had no room for errors and anomalies. They thrived on cold hard facts and truths. So he'd do the world a favor.

He'd _erase_ the blemishes.

Yet the youngest, happy-go-lucky brat, and worst mistake he'd had the pleasure of seeing had evaded his tracking device. It was simply another error for him to fix. How _thrilling_ his job had become.


	10. Alew

His eyes were ablaze. His power fuelled by pure, unbridled fury; how dare, how dare that insolent, mockery of a God attempt to demolish his hold on reality. He was the one in control. He would not be wiped out again! So, he fought. Teeth snapping in twisted anger he let loose a growl. It rumbled up from his lungs, shook his ribs, and tore apart his fragile throat- but he was determined. Even as he felt the hot liquid trailing down his throat, even as he tasted the copper on his tongue, even as the beast retaliated with a howl of its own, he did not back down.

And Zak; he didn't know why- couldn't even _begin_ to comprehend it, he felt _so_ angry. His fear had evaporated leaving a flaming ruthlessness in its place. But he wasn't just Zak, he was so much more, he knew things - he had seen things that shouldn't have been possible for him to witness. He had lived through so much more. Memories of a greater time, _of his Eden_ , memories of bitter betrayal. He was above this God. This _pitiful_ excuse for a God. A worm trying to be a judge. Trying to step into _his_ place; _he_ was the judge, the jury, the executioner. He found his gavel, just like a worn glove that slipped on with ease, and he'd cast his sentence.

 _Imprisonment_.

The Khyung _would not_ get the satisfaction of death.

He wanted the opposing God to feel what he felt. He wanted them to _fester_ and _rot_ like he did. Let the beast _suffer_ , it would be pleasing to listen to them whimper as they realized they were a goner, the soul decaying in an empty shell of a body. Let them feel the isolation, the cold indignation, the _sheer hopelessness_ of the situation; just like he did. Zak would rip the God's wings off - strip him of his flight and leave him with the shackles that tied him to the earth!

His hand raised, twisted in a sad mockery of a claw, oh how he mourned for his previous body.

 _Dull nails replaced sharp claws._

The skin that encased him now was too tight, it was restrictive and provided no protection for his brittle bones. Veins worked double time to pump blood from his frantic beating heart, its sound thudding in his ear as it rose with his anger, his blood, oddly warm in his body.

 _His amour of scales was stripped from his carcass and replaced with paper-thin skin._

Just beneath his skin, his power surged, thrumming in pleasure at being called on. It traced his veins, its path illuminating the dark skin above it, it was practically crying to be let out.

 _His injustice being washed away, consumed by the onslaught of new emotions, curiosity of the world around him replacing it. A child-like passiveness that made him shiver; he was not in control of his own body._

A _tap_ , the world around him stilled at his power, it knew him. It was aware of who he was, of what he used to be, it bowed to its king. Another _tap_ , the illusion of the world around him breaking, another, his power slamming against the wall that was built around it.

The God cried as its domain started ripping to shreds under the weight of the human's power.

In an imbecile attempt to stop anymore destruction from unfolding the Khyung roared, a bright yellow light building in its mouth, energy crackled from the orb as it grew in size. Zak watched passively, his eyes still followed the overflowing energy that fought to physically form, sitting up from his prone position he cocked an eyebrow, daring the Khyung to fire its attack.

 _When the first few wisps of his power returned to him, he was asleep; he had sunk deep under the waves of the cool ocean and was held down by its current. It had just barely brushed against him, sending pins and needles into his frozen legs. His confinement had radiated distress; he was in trouble. His body was finally calling out to him again; he would no longer be crippled or paralyzed. It was a burden, being trapped in your own body, your own mind, with no control._

The ground around them cracked and buckled under the weight of the two opposing forces, the air had become stale and smelled of sulfur. Under his palms the ground had lost its texture, it was smooth, the mirror's spell would be broken soon.

 _How pathetic_ , he mused, to try to attack him under such a weak spell.

The energy under his skin bubbled, the inferno sloshing over and seeping through his pores. Raw, arctic air slashed across his face, the tip of his nose had frozen and turned a rosy-red. Currents of air made hasty flight past his lean body; the crude force of the wind alone cutting into his skin leaving pink welts and shallow scratches. The winged worm had wanted to wipe him out with his element.

 _Silly beast_ , he sighed, _didn't he know wind fuelled fire_?

Obviously not, he knew, after the gale had blown over the God had shivered. It was aware of its fate, it had seen its mistake, and like the worm it was, it now lay on its belly begging for forgiveness.

But would he be merciful enough to give it?

He had a lot of pent-up frustrations after all.

But that woman, Drew, _mom_ , his mind supplied groggily, told him it was better to take the higher path. Man, Solomon, _dad_ , would be disappointed in his actions. Subject, Fisk, _brother_ , would be scared of him.

The few memories of his short incarnation had already joined the well of previous, more bittersweet, subconsciousness. He had considered the two flesh-bags kin. He protected them adequately, gave them comfort when they needed it, and they him, so they were _family_ \- his muddled mind agreed.

He found himself not wanting to upset them.

The God whined yet again, a reminder of what he could do flashing before his eyes, but he did not. Oh, how badly he wanted to bind the bigoted beast in chains and force him to suffer, he did have another idea, a more thought out - a more fruitful plan. Why cut the roots when you could snip the bud and start again?

His power, like a rubber band being far too over-stretched, popped. It surrounded him in a blaze of confidence. The power sparking and snapping in tangent with each breath.

" _Kneel_ ," his voice rasped, his throat straining to adjust to the lower pitch, " _consider yourself first of many to be re-educated_."

..

"How is it that every time I turn my back he vanishes?" Drew mourned as she met back up with Ulraj.

"I believe it's an innate skill of his to make everyone's day just a tad harder." The king replied self-assuredly.

"Well… you're not wrong."

"A king is never wrong."

"Pushing it a little, Ulraj."

..

"When do you think they'll be back?" Asked Doyle as he sat on the newly-bought couch with a dramatic flair, "Also, Chinese or Italian, fuzz-ball?"

"They should be back in a day or two and take out? Again?'' Doc chimed as he installed the new T.V. on the wall. He had tinkered with it before replacing it, he'd like to see Drew pull this one off the wall, it was completely bolted down - with reinforced glass.

"Italian." Fisk crooned out in his rare moments of complete verbal control.

"Good choice!" Dialing the number for the delivery joint Doyle sighed, "It's boring without those three around." Komodo hissed in agreement. Doc ducked his head to view out of the large windows that took up the entirety of the right wall, it was peculiar, the sky almost seemed to be... Shaking? It was most likely his eyes playing tricks on him.

The four males all let out a sigh and got back to work in silence.

…

Carrot, stick. Reward, punishment.

The simple, most effective, method in all of history.

When the stray god swiped its claws at his head he rewarded it with a missing tooth.

A low keen as he backed away from his outstretched hand was met with a ruffle of fur.

 _Complete obedience_.

 _Crack_ , the noise echoed, the beats' long claw broke off so easily under his power-reinforced hand.

 _Submission_ , the God barred his belly, its long neck tilting right to offer its neck.

His tiny foot had grind mercilessly into the god's nose as his hand scratched the Khyungs' chin.

He was proud, he decided as a flash of regret and indecision fluttered over his thoughts, despite going against his desire. It was a far better idea to force a God of flight to be domesticated and bound to him; a creature of the earth, than to strip him of any usefulness. The god was now under his servitude; it was almost relieving to feel the thrum of the second heartbeat against his again. If he would so much as flare his power in warning the Khyung would be informed, alert, ready to assist if he pulled the chain or cracked the whip.

He was trapped under his thumb, so to speak, or rather, he was in his thumb. It was useful, the fact that the Khyung could hide within his flesh, even more so when the god could give him predictions, "Get me out of the mirror." He commanded swiftly.

And the world around them shattered. Splinters of glass cut into his palms and dug into his unprotected cheeks, vertigo traced a path from his stomach to his esophagus, back to the real world.

In the warp from the mirror to the library he nearly screamed, he could feel himself being pulled apart, he was being re-submerged! _It wasn't fair_! He didn't want to be smothered; blearily being pushed along in the maelstrom of currents.

Cotton filled his ears, water washed down his lungs, a blindfold tugged in place over his eyes. Dark; demure and secluded. His throat bled as he cried, his brain becoming little more than mush, the warm connection that he felt snapped.

He was once again separated from his body. From his newly established bond.

 _It was cold._

His chest heaved as he was locked away with the familiar feeling of isolation.

 _...He wanted his family._

…

"You know, maybe that joke about sewing a GPS into his clothes should be taken seriously, this is ridiculous." Zak could hear his mother nagging from his position on the chilled floor. Wincing as he tried to swallow, his hand caressed his worn throat, the bells finally receding from his ears.

He was terribly sore, he groaned as he body protested his movement, his arms were practically led as he struggled to push himself up. His feet drug and he, well, he couldn't explain it but he was _so_ heavy!

His nails burned as he dug them into the floor for a better grip; everything felt wrong. Unsticking his tongue from the room of his mouth he greedily inhaled the oxygen he was provided. He had been pulled into a mirror! Turning as fast as his sore body allowed he glanced back at the cracked, but still intact, mirror.

 _The Khyung had been there._

"Now Drew, we both know that worrying won't help, sit down - try this tea, it is surprisingly well made for a bunch of surface dwellers." Ulraj chimed in helpfully unaware of the battered and molested body just on the other side of the bookshelf.

Zak panicked. _He had glared into the face of death_. He had been so close to the large god that he could smell its rank breath - _and oh god he survived it but that had to be a sin or something he was going to hell for sure._

His mouth opened in a silent scream without his consent as it squeaked out many feminine and embarrassing sounds in his anxiety driven stupor.

He had made a _god_ bend to his will.

At least, he _thought_ he did, it was admittedly blurry, but then again, he, once again, faced a _large_ , very old _God_!

His cheeks still stung but the blood had dried and caked onto his skin preventing any more from spilling and staining his jacket's collar. Exhaustion, disbelief, and pure giddiness drove him back to his knees. Not even bothering to fight it he curled up into a ball and flopped onto his side, sobbing as his body shivered with pain.

" _See_? I believe that was a sound of a child aware of the punishment he is about to receive." If he wasn't in such a state of shock he'd punch the grin that was more than likely on his friend's face.

"There's going to be more than- are you _serious_?!" Drews' voice raised in pitch as he saw her shadow travel up the ladder and over his unmoving body.

''What did you do Zak?! It's a library - I don't - _I can't- how do you manage TO HURT YOURSELF_ _ **IN A LIBRARY**_!" His mother roared as she descended on his prone form.

"You guys know that thing," he started but broke off into a coughing fit as his parched throat protested the words he tried to form, "that was _really bad_? Like Ulraj had a fit over bad?"

"If you are referring to my moment of panic at knowing that a legendary god that could provide visions of the future was running amok the temple, then yes. I had been frightened over the Khyung. Though I don't see how…." The young teen stopped, looked listlessly down at the body of his friend, kicked him in his arm - just for good measure, and then screamed.

Drew inhaled a shaky breath as she lifted her son to his feet, she rubbed smooth circles on his back despite the genuine fear she felt, "Please tell that you did not see, or therefore, get into a fight with it."

"...not exactly?" He replied quietly.

Clapping a hand over the still shrieking Ulraj Drew swiftly ushered the both of them, all three on quaking legs, to the ladder.

"Good enough for now. Let's just... Let's just calmly, safely, inform the monks that there is no more trouble and go home. We'll just drink some hot cocoa, get a hot bath and then we'll talk about your encounter."

It was going to be a long, _paranoid_ , flight home.


	11. Friendship Part 1

**To Subtle: Ugh, I finally remembered to write this, i've had a bit of a hard month so i apologize for the delay! And yes, once this story is over Zak and Kur are going to be completly merged as one being. The line will be very shaky within the future of this story so try to pick out what is Kur and what is Zak.**

 **Thanks to my lovely Beta Reader SharpAsFlint who has their own Saturday's fic which (they have multiple) but ohmygod they are all amazing and you should check them out. Also! I've anyones interested please go check out my other fic! It's an AU where Zak is blind! It's told in story/drabbles with the first chapter long as hell and two small chapters so far.**

* * *

It was a long, _paranoid_ , flight. His mother's fingers twitching in time with her eyebrow. Ulraj, who had given his lungs a break, had sat slumped depressingly in his seat. Zak had been scared, and in shock, but it was given. Though compared to the expressions of his companions he should be much more defeated than he was.

In his defense, his memories of the event were blurry at best. He could remember what he did—though he had no idea how or why he did what he did. Well; that was a lie, but technically it wasn't? He had felt so angry, so desperate for justice and his power just surged —like the mystic hotspots! His power had curled into a ball and had roared to be released, and when he let it go, it flourished.

He had felt confident, whole, and healthy. After he had come to, even after the soreness faded to a dull throb, he still felt incomplete. He felt sickly. His chest was weighed down like he had the flu; his lungs filled with mucus and throat bloated, his ears felt clogged and he had an ever-growing sense of dread.

His very soul felt like it had been cleaved in two.

Despite the fact he was squished between two people he knew loved him; he felt unbearably lonely.

.

Ulraj bit his lip and stroked idly at the gill above his lip.

If he had compared the book to a fire that burned his chest earlier, then now it was a raging blizzard; he wanted to read it, just once. No, he needed to read it. The book froze his chest and its weight had begun to crack the thin sheen of ice. It was unnatural, not humanly possible for Zak, a mortal, to survive a scuffle with a god. Especially one as powerful as the Khyung.

 _Unthinkable._

He knew that Zak was a human, one with cryptid mutated genes, but still undeniably human and one that managed to survive the Khyung at that. Was Zak more contaminated with cryptid genes than they were aware of?

 _...How much of Zak was actually human?_

He'd have to collect the council; spend hours pouring over the royal archives in search of the damned storybook he was once forced to read daily. A shot of guilt overcame him. He, the most self-assured Kumarian he knew, was having doubts. Doubts about Zak, his first, and closest friend. Ulraj couldn't help the chill that traveled through his bones as his eyes slid over the dazed boy.

How could something so deadly and malicious hide behind a child so happy-go-lucky?

Zak would understand his reasons — he couldn't let this go. Zak would forgive him for being an unfaithful friend. Afterall, Ulraj wasn't _just_ Ulraj. He was _King_ Ulraj, ruler of Kumari Kandam. He was the father and protector of over sixty-five thousand Kumari. He couldn't make selfish decisions anymore. Friendship had no place in politics.

He'd keep a closer eye on Zak from now on.

…..He could feel the weight of his conscience draped over his shoulders.

.

Drew slowly exhaled, the carbon dioxide curled in her lungs escaping in a rough hiss, meditation and prayers had failed her yet again. She was sure that whatever god that watched over her laughed at her torment. She had always remained faithful to her beliefs! Never once straying away from her path despite constantly being bested in her theories by her husband. She had little fruit to show for her labors.

It was exhausting. Constantly eating her words and trying to remain as optimistic as possible; which was a heavy burden in itself with the gloom that seemed to engulf her family.

Drew was a child of misfortune and ill-omen. Or so she was told. The monk's really never sugar coated their words.

And as luck would dictate, she had passed it to her only son, Zak, her darling baby-boy who adored the stars. Zak was cursed because of her. History had a horrible habit of repeating itself and well, it was only a matter of time for the next iteration to come around.

Not that it could get any worse, Zak was the jailer to an ancient Sumerian cryptid; honestly, what could be worse?

A million things, actually. But her point still remained.

Drew was already losing her son. He was slipping straight through her fingers and becoming someone she didn't know. Zak was fighting his own battles. And she wasn't there to pick him up, dust him off, and kiss his worries away. It had been that way for a while. She had been blind — rather she refused to look at the truth that had been handed to her; she wanted to believe because that's all she could hope for, that Zak would stay her little boy.

Well tough, because he grew up. He took flight and left the nest before he grew his wings.

Her heart wept. The internal scale in her chest continued to sway. She was losing the passion for her work. It only brought bad things. It was an obstacle! God only knows how much she's sacrificed for her work.

Still, she just couldn't give it up, not yet.

She could do this. For Doc and Zak who loved their job with a passion she was envious of. For Doyle, whom she'd never be reunited with if not for her profession. She could keep going. She refused to be left behind. It was still her dream; to be normal one day but really— they were Saturdays. Their normal was an organized chaos. Snorting in amusement she wiped away the oddly domesticated dream of her family smiling she urged the airship to go faster.

Nine hours time, she'd be home.

* * *

"Do you ever take a break mini-man?" Doyle finally asked after his jaw finally rose from the floor.

"I don't exactly _look_ for trouble." After meeting one unimpressed look he conceded, "well... At least not _all_ the time." His fingers flexed from their position around the steaming mug. Grinning sheepishly he looked up at his role model, "It just kinda finds me."

The red-head lightly rested his hand on Zak's shoulder in understanding. What he didn't expect was Zak flopping over and resting in his lap, "Zak-man?" He questioned idly just slightly put off at the physical contact.

"Long day… er... Days." Zak moaned and buried his head in Doyle's lap.

Waiting for his dad to return was boring; his mother insisted that they had to treat their injuries before they revealed how their trip went and he was going to wait but he had needed to vent. Besides, he figured his mother had followed his lead and gave his dad a run-down.

Outside, from his bay-window view, it looked like Fisk and Ulraj were having fun. Like normal, Komodo had taken Ulraj's necklace, but instead of eating it he made a game out of it. It was funny — who wouldn't laugh at a fish and a monkey chasing a lizard? Normally he would have joined, but he just couldn't bring himself to stand. It was getting increasingly hard to focus.

It must have had something to do with the Khyung he concluded. Ever since he was forced out of the mirror he had felt sickly. Maybe his dad would find something, _annnnd_ speak of the devil; the door slid open to reveal his slightly wary dad, which confirmed his hypothesis, and his mom.

"Tired honey?" His mom asked as she sat on the left of Doyle while Doc kneeled in front of him.

Giving a small shrug he watched with blank eyes as his father set out what must have been half of the med-bay. His checkup had become a lot longer and more taxing after discovering his mutated DNA. Though it was sort of mortifying, and unintentional, his health had essentially become an experiment to his parents. He didn't want Doyle to see all the steps he had to go through.

His mom coaxed his shirt over his head and in his drowsiness, he didn't even think to fight her. A swab was scraped against his tongue and a sharp prick bit into his finger. Solomon's large fingers pressed into the crook of Zak's elbow as the tired boy leaned further onto his uncle. He clenched his fist as a needle was inserted into his arm.

"Uh, I'm all for being thorough and all but don't you think this is a little much for a 'check-up'?" Doyle winced as he watched the needle disappear beneath Zak's skin. Solomon murmured to Drew and she hastily scribbled it down on the clipboard.

"Actually, not thorough enough." Drew frowned as she pressed on Zaks another arm, "His skin seems to have thickened? It's rougher… His cryptid DNA is unpredictable, we have to watch for any mutations, haven't you noticed Zak's 'new additions'?" She questioned.

"The eyes? Not that big of a deal," Doyle shrugged, "They're kinda cool."

"Pigmentation shift," Doc interjected.

"That's not all, his teeth too, all of his senses have rapidly improved. Sight, smell, and hearing. All of them have undergone a transformation, it's truly astonishing. A human with the perks of a cryptid its-" Drew began to gush before Doc shot her a glance, "Oh.. sorry sweetie.'

Zak only groaned and tried to burrow deeper into his uncle's chest.

"Anyway," Doc continued after placing a band-aid on Zak's arm, "his skin is definitely harder to pierce; it feels almost like scales or maybe an exoskeleton, though considering Kur's original form I think we can cross out the exoskeleton." Solomon mused as he stroked his son's soft skin. Drew hummed at the possibility of her son developing such wacky features as she retrieved a stethoscope and otoscope. Holding the stethoscope out to her husband she frowned as it was not taken from her hand. Looking down she caught her husband eyeing his son's' stomach.

"Doc?"

"It looks like I wasn't wrong in my observation." He smugly stated as he lifted Zak's arm. Now under speculation, Zak froze and tried to lower his arm. His father barely felt the struggle as Drew and Doyle both looked down, at his hip specifically.

"Are those-?!" Drew began suddenly not so amused at the thought of scales.

"Zak since when-" Solomon cut his wife off.

"Scales…" Doyle finished.

Lifting his head from Doyle's shoulder and looking at his family with murky eyes he shrugged, "'s been there since I woke up." He slurred as he struggled to keep his head upright.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Solomon questioned.

"There, uh, was kinda' a lot goin' on." He said.

"This changes things quite a bit… Doc? What are we going to do- his senses were one thing but with all of these physical shifts." Her unsaid question hung in the air.

"Don't." To everyone's surprise, it was Doyle who spoke out, "Remember what doubting got us last time? A group of 'kid friendly' scientist chasing us and the mini-man here losing his self-esteem." He really pulled no punches when he spoke…

"He's right. Zak will be just fine. Though his genes are mutated, the base is still human. We won't have another Honey Island situation." Doc confirmed.

"Honey Island?" The redhead asked.

"A _bonding_ experience." Zak joked in his exhausted stupor.

"What?"

"Don't worry about it." He sighed.

His parents who took the brief interlude to complete their examination stood, "All done! Now I'll run this back to the lab, but honey? It looks like you've caught a cold." Drew spoke as she left the room.

"Jus' w'at I needed." Zak moaned and flopped back onto his uncle. For all extent and purposes, he appeared to be passed out.

Laughing at his nephews' antics Doyle nudged him softly, "Real funny," getting no response he shook the boy on his lap, "Zak?"

* * *

Ulraj sighed; now re-equipped with his necklace and tucked safely away in the Saturday's guest room, it was time to get down to business. Slipping the heavy tomb from under his shirt he placed it down on the bed. He had almost a desperate need to read it before, but now? He almost regretted taking it from the monks. Slipping out a silent prayer and an apology to his ill friend he flipped to the first page.

 _Gilgamesh, humanity's mortal God._

A knock at the door caused the book to tumble from his hands.

"Yes?" He stuttered slightly.

"Fish-man? I'm about to pwn Zak and Fuzzy at Mario Kart, you interested?" He taunted from the other side of the door.

Normally he would have turned down the offer, as more… _pressing_ , he snorted at his pun, matters needed to be reviewed but…

One more night of fun wouldn't hurt.

"You think you can best a king at a challenge?! For a land-dweller you sure are slimy." He retorted as he opened the door and joined the older male. Matching grins lined their faces as they sprinted to the lounge where Zak was buried beneath several blankets and Fisk was attempting to untangle the controllers.

Claiming a seat on the left of Zak the King looked distastefully at the pile of tissues collecting on the blankets, "If you get me sick I _swear_ -"

"Wha'? Yer fancy king body can't handle a lil' hueman gerums?" Zak croaked out as he blew his nose again. Due to the blockage in his nose, his words were skewed and sounded hilarious to the Kumarian's ears.

"Oh, you are going down!" He snorted.

"Nu'uh! Yer go'n' down!" Zak growled.

"Actually, you're both going down!" Doyle commented as he threw the untangled controllers to both bickering boys, "I'll show you two noobs how it's really done!" He gloated as Fiskerton booted up the console and sprung into the rafters to watch the game.

...They were all losers as road rage overtook them. Doyle's soda; which was placed at the very edge of the table after several shoves, was knocked over by Zak who was shoved by Ulraj, spilled all over the gaming system.

The four hurried to clean the mess; bad luck striking as Doc walked in as Fisk was scrubbing the stain from the newly imported carpet, inhaling heavily through his nose Doc pointed out the cleaning items and left. Zak left too, as he was given strict orders to go to bed and a small punishment.

Zak was banned from games for a week, Fisk once again had a curfew, Doyle had to replace the console and Ulraj walked off feeling more than slightly embarrassed.

He would, however, be lying if he said that 'gaming night' was his worst memory. If anything? It was his favorite.

Ulraj smiled dropped as he returned to the book slightly hidden under the bed.

His biggest regret.

 _That damned book._


	12. Lethologica

_Introoooducccingggg Anxiety Warings. Yeah. That and subtle implications of other mental illnesses, though its pretty much not there. Also if anyone can figure out the foreshadowing that I placed let me know ;o - As always thanks to my beautiful Beta SharpAsFlint previously known as MagentaMustang._

 _To Subtle Shenanigans: Doyle is always our savior lmao. Mullet God bless. But I figure he'd become really protective over Zak which comes out in this chapter slightly? Also Here is part one of anxious Zak. I hope it comes out well? I compared his anxiety to mine where one word can spitball me into a stupor which is why he kinda freaks. This is officially the start of the next arc: Bigfoot! During the next few arcs the minor characters will get brought into the spotlight though it doesn't seem like it as this is a Zak centric story. Not gonna lie i discussed a lot of the plot with Flint, and its so angsty that im considering this story a soap opera._

 _That being said, I will be reviewing the first like five? chapters and editing them now that im finished with the Khyung arc. So the chapter pacings will be fixed and hopefully the drama and angst wont be shoved down your throats!_

* * *

The days following Ulraj's departure were hazy. He spent most of the time sleeping off the sickness or listening to his uncle's exciting global adventures. The things Doyle did were unbelievable! From anyone else, Zak would call fraudulence, but knowing how daring and bold his uncle was – he believed every single tale. His mom would sit in on a few, the same frown on her face. His dad would also sit in on a few, though when he did the stories were interrupted and any talk turned into an argument.

It was cozy, he decided.

He liked the feeling of waking up not on the run from scientists or creepy arch-enemies. A hand ruffled his messy bed head and looking up at the card game his uncle, brother, and mother were playing he grinned, he truly did love his family.

Quickly looking over the redhead's shoulder he taunted, "Doyle, Doyle, Doyle; you really think you can beat mom at Uno?"

"Can it mini-man!" The ginger grit out as he placed down a draw four.

Drew's smile quirked up as she placed down her own. Fiskerton wailed as the eight cards were handed to him. The round continued, they shed a few cards, things were actually looking up for Doyle until Fisk played a reverse.

Mom capitalized on the opportunity quicker than a shark to blood. She threw down three plus two's and beamed as she dealt her brother the cards. She now had two. Fisk murmured in concentration as he placed a yellow three.

"Uno!" His mom yelled and slapped down a nine.

" _Bullshit_!" Doyle yelled back as he tried to sort his cards.

Doc scrunched his nose at the foul language and wacked his brother-in-law on the shoulder, "Watch your language!" Doyle looked back with pure frustration written on his face before placing a red nine.

"Fuzzy, please tell me you can cause pain. Anything! Plus fours, twos, I'll even take a skip!" He looked hopefully at the Fiskerton Phantom. His brother only looked on with a similar face of frustration before he played a red six.

Drew rose quickly from the couch as she threw down her card, "Ha! Uno!" She laughed as she watched the blue six land neatly on top of the red six.

"Argh!" Doyle cried as he slammed his fist into the table, a crack graced the surface soon after, "I quit!"

"Really?! The table? This is why we can't nice things!" His father huffed.

His mom only laughed good-naturedly as she placed a kiss on Fisk's distraught face, "Maybe next time honey, and Doc, sweetie, you know how my family is. We just-"

"Get in the zone. Yeah, yeah, I know.." Doc sulked as he left the room, more than likely retrieving the materials to put together a new table.

Snickering into his hand Zak rose and gave his mom a high-five, "At least it wasn't the TV." Drew hummed in agreement as she started retrieving any fly-away cards, "See Doyle? I told you-you couldn't beat her."

His uncle only mustered up enough energy to swat at him.

Bending down, he began helping his mother gather the cards. Handing off the few he picked up he placed them in the box before handing it off to his mom. Placing all the cards back into their correct places she easily cut through the gloomy atmosphere with her radiant smile, "C'mon! It was just a card game." Seeing no response from the two upset boys she shrugged, "I guess Zak and I will just have to share all of the victory cookies."

Both hopped up pretty quickly though one was obviously sorer than the other, " _just a card game_ my mullet."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Drew."

Fiskerton had quickly monopolized the tray, tutting at each member of his family to take a seat as he distributed them evenly. Not wanting to ruin his fun everyone waited until he picked up his first to start eating.

A single bite was taken before the alarms blared.

Everyone shared brief glances of annoyance as they all, with the exception of Fisk, put down the sweets. Not a moment later Doc's face lit up a holo-screen. A scowl twisted up his face as he looked down at them, "Mission. We've got a Bigfoot sighting. Can you believe it, Bigfoot of all things to waste our time on."

"Woah, hold up there professor, I swear I just heard the name Bigfoot come out of your mouth," Doyle commented rather awestruck.

"Yes, you heard me right. It's embarrassing to be called for this–"

"Embarrassing? It's _Bigfoot_! The world's most famous cryptid!"

"Bigfoot is not real! He's just some hoax that spread around the internet for far too long!"

"Take it back! He's totally real. I'll prove it to you." Doyle interjected before pressing the button to end the projection. Turning back to the others in the room his eyes were lit with a competitive fire, "well, we've got an ape to find."

* * *

"I'm going to enjoy rubbing this in your face," Doc admitted as they trekked through the muck leading up to the dense forest.

"You wish!" The younger man spat as he led the expedition further. Stopping right at the tree line he slung the backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it. Pulling out two flashlights he tossed one to his nephew and kept the other in his hand.

"Alright, why are you carrying that? What do you even have in there, it's huge!" Zak asked as he peered around his uncle's shoulder.

"Probably his pride." Doc snarked as he adjusted the headlamp strapped around his head.

"Doc!" Drew scolded as she clicked on her own flashlight.

"No, he's right. My pride _and_ joy," Doyle proclaimed as he lifted out a heavy looking camera, "all we need to capture Bigfoot. Bait, traps, night vision camera, tracker darts; I got it all. I like to be prepared."

"Well… at least someone's taking this seriously." His sister laughed, "Come on sweetie, it might be fun. Besides if evil yeti's are a thing, who are we to say there's no Bigfoot?"

"Don't tell me you're on his side now!"

"It's not about sides. It's about putting the people's minds at ease… and possibly finding Bigfoot."

"Ugh!" Zak moaned, "Don't start, it's like one of your science versus mystic debates again, and we _know_ how that ends. We don't need to make up a Fact v. Fiction competition too."

"Sorry." Both of his parents apologized and focused on the task at hand. Navigating a forest at night was no joke. Much to his embarrassment, he had to be lifted over several fallen trees. Not to mention Fisk had not-so-secretly saved him from a few nasty trips as well. He knew he was short for his age but this was getting ridiculous. Walking another two and a half miles to the heart of the forest Doyle finally let them take a break. The excitement he held was almost enough to forget the mud caked to his shoes.

 _Almost_.

"Alright! I put out three cameras on the way, I'll set up four around the perimeter, and then we can each take a few and go for a couple hundred yards." Doyle began unpacking several tiny night vision cameras.

Fisk took six and fled to the tops of the trees as he was the aptest for the job. He and his mother fanned out the west flank, his dad took the east, and Doyle took north. By the time they all met back up, Zak had mud coated to the hems of his pants of which he smelled of to ward off the mosquitos that clung to his skin.

"I'm officially done with camping." He felt the need to add his two cents as he slapped the eighth insect off his neck. From the corner of his eye, he saw his dad wince sympathetically as he swatted away a few insects of his own. Even his mother who was normally avoided by the bugs had her fair share of irritated bite marks.

"What next oh captain, my captain." Drew joked as they looked to Doyle who was the leader for this mission. He smirked cockily and sat on one of the overturned branches as he pulled out a small laptop, crowding around him revealed that he had all the cameras footage on the screen.

"Now, my ever faithful crew," he chimed along to the joke, "We wait and see which part of the forest is the most active, which part is the most secluded, and most importantly which part is the prime animal graveyard. We find a trail of bones – we find our gorilla."

"That doesn't seem like a very successful method." Doc disagreed as he stood and let his single eye roam the dense forest around them.

"Your mouth is an unsuccessful method." He snapped back.

"What? That's not even a good come back." Doc argued.

"Doc… let Doyle lead this. Besides if we don't have any conclusive evidence in 72 hours we can try it your way." Drew, ever the faithful peacemaker, said.

"I'm good for whatever gets us out of the forest sooner." Zak grumbled as Fisk slapped another mosquito off his brother, "Can we have a fire, please?"

"No can do mini-man." Doyle said ignoring Zak's upset cry, "The smoke will call attention to our base of operations."

"It's, _probably_ , just an animal that migrated to the wrong place Doyle! Not a park ranger!" Zak almost sobbed as he heard the buzzing of an insect's wing cut close to his ear. His mom took pity on him after she had her laugh and thoroughly sprayed him down with more _Off_.

The pesticide was a horrible gamble. It kept the bugs off for maybe an hour, sure, but it also irritated his sensitive nose horribly. It smelt like someone shoved mustard mixed with onions up his nose. So he sat down on the closest log and wiped away the tears that fell from his eyes. They were in for a crappy night; Zak could feel it.

"No more complaining? Good! Now, we set up watch." Doyle eagerly cheered despite two sets of eyes glaring down at him.

.

"3 A.M. log, nothing."

"You don't have to report every hour Doyle." Zak groaned as he rolled over in his sleeping bag. He found it hard to sleep with an obsessive uncle whispering to a camera every thirty minutes.

"I do. These situations take care and consideration. I can't miss a thing." He protested.

"I've gone along with my parents on cryptid discovering missions since I was six. None of this was ever necessary. You're just making more work for yourself." Though it came out slightly rude his uncle deserved the scolding for keeping him up so late.

"...Your no fun at three a.m. Zak-man." The older man pouted. "Think of it like this, this? This is a dream come true for me. Hunting down Bigfoot was on my bucket list for the longest. Besides, it's the journey, not the destination."

Oh. Zak didn't think of it that way. It was easy to forget Doyle's less than amazing childhood when he joked around as much as he did.

"That's true I guess… What's next?" He hoped Doyle would catch onto his subtle apology.

His uncle grinned, his smile was bright and stretched across half of his face, making Zak lose any remaining aggravation over his loss of sleep. His uncle stood up and stretched his legs out, "I'm glad you asked! Now we go look for clues."

Standing up next to him and slipping on his shoes he grabbed his own backpack, which was equipped with the essentials for camping, "Clues?"

"Yeah," Doyle led them away from the camp and deeper into the forest, "ya' know like, fur, scratches, animal carcasses…" That last one was kind of morbid but if what the internet said was true Bigfoot attacked over animals for food so…

Still, decomposing things, in general, were gross. Not to mention he didn't exactly enjoy seeing dead bodies. He grimaced as the thought of corpses and therefore Abbey crossed his mind. Her funeral had long since passed but he still wondered about it from time to time. It was like an itch, an absolutely unbearable one, he felt like he should know what happened but he didn't and it made his lungs ache.

His throat swelled just thinking of his old babysitter. He should have tried harder if there was a cryptid there, he learned in the underground that he could sense cryptids no matter how far away, he didn't try to help. He took it all in and acted like a victim.

His eyes stung as he his chest began to heave, and heave, and _heave_.

What had happened to Abbey?

His stomach churned.

He knew the answer, he had to have known the answer but it wasn't coming to him and –

He screamed in pure panic as gravity left him. His nails dug into the wet soil as he struggled to pick his face up out of the dirt. He tripped. How ridiculous. Great. Spitting the dirt out of his mouth he turned to the slight wheezing sound.

Doyle. Laughing. At him.

"Zak! Whoo! Oh man, that was hilarious. Did you have a nice _trip_?" Seeing his nephew's apprehensive and distraught face his laughter stopped.

"Hey, seriously Zak are you okay? I didn't mean to laugh, it just kind of- yeah." The ginger struggled for an answer as he raised a helping hand to the younger boy in front of him. Seeing no response still, Doyle groaned. His eyes sharpened as they took in his nephews' shaky hands and rough breathing.

Kneeling down he observed Zak's flickering eyes. Something obviously had him on edge, he didn't know what but–

Aw, shit.

"Hey, Zak, shhh… Just look at me mini-man. You're fine? See?" His nephew's eyes narrowed in on him but continued to shift nervously to the side, "Can you count with me? Don't look at me like that, just can you count with me? Please? I'm not good with numbers you know," He joked trying to calm the younger boy down a little.

"One." He waited but got no response.

"Zak, one."

"One." Zak answered after a rough period of trying to catch his breath.

"Two." He continued.

"Two." Zak mimicked.

"Three."

Zak didn't respond instead his breathing caught again and he let out a nasty hiccup and the tears welling in his eyes fell down his cheeks.

"Zak. Listen to me. Three," he stressed, becoming more worried about his nephew's condition.

"Three."

"Breathe in for me. Good, good, um, four." Doyle stammered out as they slowly but surely made their way to ten. Repeating the process just to be sure, he rubbed the back of his nephew's hand as he pulled him up to stand albeit shakily.

"You okay Zak?"

"Uh, yeah, I think. I mean, I'm good." His nephew's shoulders hunched and Doyle felt like crap. His amazing, too-mature, smart nephew was beating himself up over an attack that he couldn't control. Well, he wasn't going to let that fly, no way in hell.

"Mind telling me what happened? You don't have to, I won't push you. But I'd like to help you sort through all that jumble in your big brain. Trust me, I've been there and… none of this is helping but I'm here." He was rambling and he knew it. He just didn't like to see the boy who practically saved him from the hell hole he crawled himself in to go through something as unfair as anxiety.

He knew what it was like to have your brain turned against you and frankly it was an unpleasant experience he didn't wish onto anyone else.

"Abbey." His footing wobbled. That was a wildcard.

"Abbey?" He questioned softly, he wasn't ready for that bandage to be removed, either.

"It's stupid. I just, I don't like to see or think about dead things? Yeah, that sounds really childish like that. But, I carried Abbey's body back to the airship and I don't know why I just connected the dead animal to Abbey. I don't want to always think of Abbey compared to a rotting corpse but I… I don't know where i'm going with this. It was so much clearer in my head and it overwhelmed me, I think?" Looks like he wasn't the only one who couldn't find his words. God, he could feel the wound opening. Looks like Doc's patch job wasn't going to last long.

"It's not stupid. You can't control shit like that." He winced at his language, cursing, at a kid who just had an anxiety attack. Smart one Doyle. "Ugh, I mean, the last time you saw Abbey wasn't under good circumstances. You saw her, dead, you saw her dead." He winced again at his stutter, "That was your first time seeing a corpse, and it didn't help that you knew her, that sort of thing doesn't ever go away. I won't lie to you. You won't get over it. You won't move on but… You learn to cope. And I'll be here for you until you do." Doyle could feel the anger and bitterness bite at his chest. He wasn't angry at Zak, he was angry at himself.

But because his nephew was so kind and amazing and honestly the best thing that ever happened to him; he smiled and awkwardly intertwined his smaller fingers with his larger ones, "That goes both ways, Doyle. If you need to vent, I'm here for you too."

"Thank you, Zak." Relief washed down his throat and soothed the hurt that built in his chest.

"We can talk about this later, at home, but we have a sasquatch to catch." He cleared the subject off both of their plates.

"About that… look what I tripped over." Zak's voice was strained but smug and Doyle's eyes fell to the floor. He wondered how Zak could spot that with such ease before he pinched himself, cryptid sight, it came in handy. Especially when it found a clue in the middle of a dark forest.

"Oh. Oh yeah baby, that's evidence right there." Clicking on his flashlight he cheered at the tracks that littered the ground. His footprints mingled with Zak's, but under those sat a large handprint.

Jackpot.


End file.
